


Skin Deep

by mag_lex



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Shameless Smut, Smut, Strap-Ons, Tattoo Artist 13, yes another one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:56:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29533032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mag_lex/pseuds/mag_lex
Summary: As she looked through Max’s art, Yaz knew she’d found the right person for what she wanted. None of the others had everything she was looking for in one package, but Max...Max seemed to have it all.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 19
Kudos: 77





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [timelxrd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelxrd/gifts).



> Thought you guys might like to meet Max 🙂 some of you already have on WordPress! 
> 
> But posting this here means I can now also gift this to Robin for their birthday 🎉🥳 Happy birthday legend ❤️ thank you for convincing me to keep going (and not just on this fic but all of them!). I hope you enjoy the rest!

The post catches Yaz’s eye immediately.

It is a lazy Saturday morning and she has spent the past half hour in bed, contemplating whether she should get out of it. Down the hall she can hear her sister talking on the phone and she tries to summon up the energy to be sociable. Sonya is doing her a favour, after all, putting her up in her spare room, but it has been a long week and five more minutes rapidly turns into twenty, then thirty.

But just as she is about to relinquish the device, Yaz refreshes her social media feed one last time for good measure and is surprised to see a new post from an account she has been keeping tabs on for a while.

She’d stumbled across Max’s profile by mistake, while looking for a local tattoo shop. The studio she’d been to before is one she can’t quite face going back to, given what she is asking for; she needs a new place and a new artist. But when one of her friends had suggested she look online for inspiration, Yaz had fallen into a whole new world. She was bombarded with hundreds of images of tattoos and the variety was overwhelming. It was purely by chance that she’d discovered Max’s shop and from then on, it was like following a lead; with every link she followed and every image she found, she came closer to the solution she’d been searching for.

Yaz had instantly clicked with Max’s style. After a long and arduous search, she’d finally found a new artist whose work she adored. Every single tattoo drew her in and captured her imagination: they were bold, bright, technically well done with clean lines and beautiful shading, and the colour pieces really popped. There were a handful of other tattooists that Yaz had been contemplating but as she looked through Max’s art, Yaz knew she’d found the right person for what she wanted. None of the others had everything she was looking for in one package, but Max…Max seemed to have it all.

Unfortunately, her exhilaration was short-lived. When she’d tried to book an appointment she’d been disheartened to learn that Max’s books were closed for the next 8 months. Although that was disappointing it was also a good sign that Max was fully booked, and it cemented Yaz’s decision to approach Max for a tattoo. She’d already waited several months; what were a few more? Yaz committed to the wait, and put the idea on the back burner for the time being.

That is, until this particular morning. Yaz spots Max’s profile picture - a simple heart tattoo, which looks nothing like their others - and stops scrolling to read the post.

_My books might be closed but I’m open, for one day only._

_Walk-ins today, 11-5._

_First come, first serve._

There is some smaller text and a caption underneath, but Yaz is out of bed before she’s even finished reading the headline. First come first serve means she needs to get a shift on. She checks the time and curses her lethargy; it’s already quarter to 11 and it would take the best part of an hour to get ready and get down there, but there is no way Yaz is going to miss this opportunity.

She showers quickly and shoves on some shorts and a t-shirt, practically bowling Sonya over in her rush out of the door.

Her heart sinks when she reaches the shop to discover people milling about outside, clearly waiting. But Yaz has no qualms about walking straight in. She ignores the disgruntled looks of her competitors to sidle up to the reception desk.

With a start, she recognises who is sitting behind it. She hopes that’s a good sign.

“Ryan Sinclair? Is that you?”

The young man looks up from the screen and frowns at her before recognition dawns.

“Yaz? Didn’t think I’d ever see you in here,” he grins and gets to his feet, and pulls Yaz into a slightly awkward hug across the desk. “Long time.”

“Yeah, just a bit,” Yaz smilsd, relieved to see a friendly face at least. “I didn’t realise you worked here? Last I heard you were studying for your NVQ.”

“Needed the money, plus this is a pretty cushty set-up. I just chill out with these two all day, and listen to my music.” He gestures behind him with his thumb and Yaz spots two artists already working in the tiny studio. Sure enough, she can hear music under the constant noise of buzzing from the machines. “But I don’t think that’s why you’re here?”

Yaz shakes her head and realises she is nervous. She was in such a rush to get down to the shop that it hasn’t crossed her mind she would be willingly putting herself through pain if all went to plan.

“I saw there were walk-ins for Max.” Yaz looks behind Ryan again, trying to figure out who Max is. The two artists she’s seen are the only ones there; the studio is smaller than she expected. She doesn’t even know what Max looks like but with only two people to choose from, it certainly makes life easier. There’s an older man with grey hair, bent over a man’s calf, and a younger woman with short blonde hair who’s tattooing a green-haired girl’s elbow. Ouch.

Yaz looks back to the older man. Max is older than she expected but it does kind of make sense that someone who does such incredible tattoos would be older. That kind of skill probably only comes with experience.

“Does he have any slots free?”

Ryan grins and turns to shout out behind him.

“Max, how are you looking?”

To Yaz’s surprise, the blonde woman’s head snaps up at the mention of the name and her machine stops. The woman is Max? Yaz assumed Max was male but despite the chiselled jawline, this Max is certainly female.

“You tell me, Ry,” the woman replies, using the break to wipe down her client’s elbow with a paper towel.

“Depends how late you wanna work. Pretty sure all of your slots are filled with the people outside.” Yaz’s heart sinks. She’d been as quick as she could but she still might have missed out.

Max pulls a face when she looks out of the shop window at the queue and then her gaze finally drifts to Yaz. When their eyes meet, her face lights up with a smile and Yaz feels her hopes lift at the sight of it.

“Give me five?” Max asks her client, who seems relieved for a break. “We’re nearly done, though. You’re smashing it.”

Yaz swallows a wave of nerves as Max snaps off her latex gloves and makes her way over. She’s dressed in skinny jeans and a loose white shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to expose heavily inked forearms. Even the backs of her hands are covered in tattoos and Yaz finds herself trying not to stare at them.

Before Max can speak, Yaz does. She needs to make her case.

“It’s a cover up,” she blurts. “That’s what I’m after.”

Max wavers. Yaz knows cover-ups aren’t always a popular suggestion but she had thought Max of all people would be able to do a decent job, and she hopes she can convince her. Now that she’s here, she’s not sure how she’s going to do that, though; Max is not who she expected at all and she’s thrown completely. She has a vibe about her, which Yaz can’t quite describe, and she feels a little awestruck in her presence.

“Here, on my thigh.”

Yaz pulls up her shorts and points to the tattoo on her leg, and tries to hold her nerve while Max crouches to take a closer look. She can see Ryan angling for a view and Yaz knows she’ll have to explain why she wants it covered up. It’s the moment she’s been dreading and now that she’s met Max, she’s even more embarrassed. She bets Max has never made such a foolish mistake.

“It was for an ex.”

Yaz finally takes a look at the offending tattoo, if only to avoid Max’s gaze: a flower that her now-ex had given her on their first date. It had been cheesy but it had worked, and Yaz had always associated it with her. Now, she cringes whenever she looks at it.

To her relief, Max says nothing. Instead, she leans in even closer and Yaz can feel her breath gently tickle her leg. She stiffens. Suddenly it is very hard to stand still, but Yaz chalks that up to the fact that such a captivating woman is that close to her thigh. What on earth had she been thinking, getting that tattooed there?

There’s a moment of silence as Max figures out what to do, but she doesn’t seem to judge Yaz for her decision or offer any immediate resistance to the idea of a cover-up, and the moment of potential awkwardness passes. Yaz feels her nerves abate.

“What did you have in mind?” Max finally asks.

“A galaxy. Something spacey,” Yaz offers. She’s loved the thought of space since she was a kid and Max has done some incredible space-themed designs. Yaz has an idea of what she’d like but she can’t quite describe it, never mind put it on paper, and she wishes she’d had the foresight to print off some ideas. Then again, turning up to a tattoo shop with other designs seems a bit cheeky and she wants to see what Max can come up with.

Yaz spies something similar to what she’s after on Max’s forearm, but resists the urge to point it out. That would look like she’s just copying, when she’s been considering this concept for years. Besides, it seems appropriate to cover up an unpleasant image with a comforting one and she’s sticking to her guns. She wants this tattoo from Max.

“You know this is gonna have to be bigger? Like…”

Yaz freezes as Max frames her hands around the space on her thigh to give her an idea of the size. Her hands are cool, despite the warmth of the day.

“Good,” Yaz replies, head held high. “I don’t want to think about her.”

That gets Max’s attention; Yaz can sense her head snapping upwards at the reveal that Yaz’s ex is female.

“Alright,” Max replies, finally getting to her feet. “Say no more. Wait two seconds.”

Yaz calms herself as Max retrieves some tracing paper and a pencil, but her efforts are futile because then Max is tracing the tattoo on her leg. It tickles, the feel of pencil through the paper, and Yaz knows what’s going to follow won’t tickle in the slightest. Max’s tongue sticks out of the corner of her mouth as she works rapidly.

“There. Thanks. Think I’ve got what I need for now. Could you come back at six?”

Yaz blinks, slow to realise what Max is saying.

“You can do it?”

“Sure, I can do it for you. No problem,” Max grins, and Yaz returns it, delighted that luck is on her side. “But I have a few clients first and I need some time to draw it up. So…is six okay? You don’t have any plans this evening?”

“Nope, luckily not, for once,” Yaz lies. She never has plans at the moment.

The next few hours are wasted ones. Over the past year, Yaz is sure she’s wished her life away on more than one occasion, but she allows herself this because she’s actually excited about what’s to come. When she returns to the studio after several leisurely hours spent in the shops, the queue outside has finally dispersed. The music has stopped, too, and when Yaz enters the shop she sees why: the older artist is clearly finishing up for the day and Ryan is hanging out by the desk, also apparently done with work.

“Graham, you nearly done?” he asks as Yaz steps through the door. “It’s getting late and those pints aren’t going to drink themselves.”

“Alright, alright, I’m done,” the older man sighs, and he shoots Yaz a reassuring smile. “We’ll get out of your hair and you won’t have to put up with his Saturday playlist.”

“Hey, there are some classics on there,” Ryan protests, and Yaz can tell they’re close. They’re still bickering as they leave.

But once they depart, Yaz still has no idea where Max even is; she has the shop to herself for several minutes.

“Hello?” she asks the empty space, bemused. She must be there somewhere, but where? Yaz concludes that the shop is larger than it looks and sure enough, she’s proved right when Max emerges from a room in the back bearing a mug of something.

She’s no longer wearing her white shirt; she’s in a vest top, and behind her, Yaz can see a door that’s been propped open to let in the evening air. It’s warmer in the shop than it was earlier, no doubt a build up of heat from the day and from the several bodies that have passed through it, but most of all Yaz is glad she’s wearing shorts because seeing Max in a vest top has made her break out in a fresh sweat.

“Perfect timing.” Max grins and nods to her corner, apparently oblivious to Yaz’s reaction. That, or she’s used to women blatantly staring at her arms the way Yaz is right now. “I’ve got us all set up.”

Yaz can see that her station is already prepared, ink pots stuck down with vaseline and ready to be filled with the ink she’s going to put into Yaz’s skin.

“Make yourself comfortable and I’ll just be a moment, nothing worse than leaving a cup of tea half finished. Wait, can I get you a drink? Wait, wait. I’m sorry, I didn’t even ask your name. Doing this all out of order.”

“It’s Yaz.” Yaz smiles at the unexpected ramble.

“Can I get you a drink, Yaz?”

Max’s tone is all business but something in her expression gives Yaz a thrill and she asks for some water. She has a feeling she’s going to need it. They have the shop to themselves; Ryan had shut the blinds on his way out so there’s a feeling of privacy about proceedings that Yaz not only appreciates but finds intriguing. Max is obviously working late for her, which is interesting in and of itself because she’s been tattooing all day and could have said no. Instead, she’s doing this for Yaz.

Yaz eases herself onto the chair and lifts her leg onto the raised padded section. It’s more comfortable than it looks but she’s fidgety, eager to get started and also nervous about what’s to come. She stares at her leg. She has no regrets about getting the ink covered up but she can picture Max’s hands around it. It’s going to take up a lot more space than she’s used to.

She pulls out her phone, looking for a distraction. Sonya has texted her, asking what she was in such a rush to do and wondering where she is. Even though she had the whole afternoon to reply, Yaz was too preoccupied thinking about her tattoo to do so. With a wave of guilt, she opens up the thread.

_Managed to get a space with that tattoo artist I like_

_That Max dude? You still getting that old one covered up?_

Yaz didn’t think she’d talked about Max that much but clearly she has if her sister remembers the name.

_Yeah. She’s drawn it up but I haven’t seen it yet. We’re only just getting started now_

_She? Max is a she?_

Yaz mentally facepalms. She can sense her sister’s intrigue already. She doesn’t even have a chance to respond before Sonya messages again.

_Mind if I come by?_

Yaz is about to reply in the negative - her sister clearly wants to be nosey and the shop is actually shut, which will surely raise questions about what Yaz is even doing there - but then Max re-emerges with a glass of water in one hand and a sheet of paper in the other, and Yaz almost drops her phone.

“Here.” Max deposits the water within arm’s reach and holds out the paper for Yaz to inspect. “What do you think?”

Yaz forgets about her phone as soon as she sees what’s on the page. It’s better than anything she could have asked for. The design Max has come up with is vibrant and aesthetically pleasing and even though Yaz

knew it would be good, to see it in real life is amazing. She’s duly impressed and more than anything she’s excited that it’s going to be on her leg within the next few hours, and then forever.

“I love it,” she replies, eyes wide as she takes in every detail. She has no idea how Max has drawn such a beautiful design in amongst all of her other clients but she isn’t going to question it. Max is clearly very good at what she does.

“Favourite bit of the job, that,” Max grins, and places the paper to one side as she pulls on a pair of latex gloves. Then she retrieves a razor and some paper towels, and Yaz recalls what’s coming next.

“Really?” Yaz is surprised.

“Watching how clients react to designs when they first see them is so satisfying.”

Max wets the towel and Yaz flinches as the cold hits her skin.

“Try to relax for me, Yaz,” Max instructs. “If you tense, this is going to hurt more.”

Yaz does as she’s told and tries to ignore the ticklish sensation of the razor passing over her skin. She’s about to apologise for not doing a thorough job but she knows the more she speaks, the more obvious her nerves will be. Max, on the other hand, is as cool as a cucumber.

“Keep that leg relaxed for me,” Max reminds her, and then she’s on her feet, leaning over Yaz as she tries to line up the stencil with the space she needs to cover. Yaz holds her breath as it’s pressed against her skin. There’s something about the way that Max tells her what to do, the way she says her name, the way she takes charge, that makes Yaz melt. She wonders how she’s going to sit still for the tattoo.

“It’ll be hard to see, but-”

Max holds out her hand and Yaz takes it gratefully, allowing Max to guide her to a full-length mirror so they can both see how it will look.

From what she can see of the outline, Yaz is pleased; her old tattoo will certainly be covered. Max takes her time, though, scrutinising the placement of her stencil from every angle. After several minutes she straightens, apparently satisfied.

“You good with that?”

Yaz nods. She’s sure that she’ll be happy with whatever Max does. She willingly puts herself in her very capable hands, which are then hidden beneath a fresh pair of latex gloves as Yaz takes her seat again. She watches quietly as Max readies her inks, a glorious rainbow of colours laid out before her, ready and waiting for her to apply them.

The noise of the machine breaks the quiet and Yaz startles in surprise. Max’s head snaps up as she registers her reaction.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s worse because there’s no music, even if Ryan does have terrible taste. Want me to put some on?”

“Yeah, please.”

To her surprise, Max doesn’t ask her what she’d like to listen to. But then again, why would she? She’s the one who’s working and who needs to focus. Whatever helps her concentrate, Yaz is more than happy to listen to, but to her relief Max chooses a song she recognises. It makes proceedings a little more relaxing.

“Fiona Apple?”

“Good ear,” Max grins, testing her machine again. She dips the needles into the pot of black ink and Yaz tries not to flinch at the sound. Max may be used to the noise but Yaz certainly isn’t, regardless of how good her ear is.

“Alright. You ready?”

Yaz nods, and the moment the needles touch her skin she remembers just how much the first tattoo had hurt. Once again, she wonders what she’d been thinking. If she hadn’t got that tattoo - hell, if she hadn’t dated Anna - she wouldn’t be here right now. But then she’d be missing out on meeting Max and Yaz consoles herself with that thought as Max sets to work, her focus laser sharp as she brings her face in close to Yaz’s thigh.

“Deep breath,” Max says, “but keep breathing. Don’t want you passing out on me. You remember what this is like?”

She pauses, gun in hand, and Yaz nods. “Lines can sting more than shading.”

After a few minutes spent focusing on her breathing, Yaz feels her body adjusting. It’s strange, getting used to pain, but it helps to look at Max. She’s a very nice distraction. She’s also a lot cooler than the artist who did her original tattoo. He’d worn a bow tie.

“So…what made you do a drop in?”

“It’s fun, doing tattoos on the fly. I fancied a challenge. Although most people chose from the flash.”

Yaz frowns. If she’s getting a tattoo from Max, she’s going to get something unique. “Why would they do that?”

Max pauses, as if she’s wondering whether to continue the line of conversation.

“That was the deal,” she eventually says, and she carries on tattooing. “It was in the small print. Meant I could see more people.”

Yaz feels cold dread dawning. “Oh, you’re joking.” She reaches for her phone and scrolls to the post to discover that she didn’t read it properly. _Flash only._

“I just saw first come first served and I didn’t think. What an idiot.”

Max wipes away the excess ink from her skin and flashes Yaz a reassuring smile.

“It’s kind of a compliment, really. And like I said, I fancied a challenge. Plus, if I can help you get over an ex, well…” Max winks and resumes her work.

Yaz almost drops her phone again. Is Max flirting? There’s nothing but the noise of the machine for several moments, accompanied by one of Yaz’s favourite songs. It feels like a sign. She just has no idea what to do with it.

“How long have you wanted this covered up?” Max breaks the silence this time.

“About six months.” It’s closer to eight, but Yaz doesn’t want to admit she’s been broken up that long, or that she’s been painfully single for that long and moping about it.

“A little while, hey?” Max’s brows are furrowed in concentration but her tone is light, almost teasing in a way that suggests she wants Yaz to join in. Banter. Yaz can do banter, she does it all the time at work. It’s flirting that she’s a little out of practice with, but the least she can do is talk to Max while she works. And Max is attractive. It’s flattering that she might want to flirt with Yaz.

“Yeah. It’s impossible to get on your books. You’re very popular.”

“Did you message?”

“Yeah.” Yaz messaged multiple times, now that she thinks about it; she really was desperate to get this tattoo. Perhaps it’s a good thing Max hasn’t made a connection.

“I bet I didn’t see it. I’m terrible at checking my messages. Pretty sure I’d have made space for you.” Max glances up and fixes Yaz with a look but it’s gone before Yaz can decipher it.

“Just coming up to a sensitive bit,” she warns. Yaz looks down and she’s already nearing the edge of her inner thigh. When had that happened? So much of the outline is already done, and this bit really is going to hurt. But Yaz remembers not to tense and instead bites her lip in anticipation of the pain. It stings, boy does it sting, but she manages to remain relaxed for most of it. She lets out a steady breath as Max rounds off a line and then she says something that derails her completely.

“Good girl, Yaz.”

Yaz white-knuckles the chair as she tunes out for a second. She’s almost certain she makes a sound of some kind but the noise of the machine hopefully drowns it out.

_Fuck._

That shouldn’t have been hot but it is because Yaz imagines Max saying it in bed and simply ceases to function for a second. When people talk about three little words they normally aren’t those ones, but they’ve certainly done the trick for Yasmin Khan. The sound of the machine eventually brings her back, but by then Max has pulled away, concerned.

“You doing ok?”

Yaz nods, but she doesn’t really know she’s doing it - she feels like she has a bobble head - and Max frowns.

“You’re breathing a little funny. Would you like a break? The outline is actually pretty much done, just give me one more minute if you can hack it.”

Yaz nods. She feels a bit woozy and warm, but it’s hard to tell what the cause actually is because her body is all over the shop while her mind is clearly elsewhere. She’d put money on her confusion being entirely down to Max, but her leg stings a little when she moves it, reminding her what they’re in the middle of doing.

“I think a cuppa might help,” Max suggests, and, outline done, she puts down the gun and turns off the music.

“Yes, please, a tea would be great,” Yaz agrees, if only to get a few minutes to herself to recover her senses. The silence is deafening.

She’s just about got a grip when Max returns with a mug - bearing the words ‘my fam’ and three cartoon characters - and a plate of custard creams.

“I keep a stash of these for emergencies. Only special clients get one,” Max says, and nods in approval when Yaz takes one.

“Thank you. Needed the sugar I think,” Yaz fibs.

Max says nothing but she smiles as she takes a seat. She crosses an ankle over her knee and braces her hands on her thighs and oh no, that just made the muscles in her arms even more defined. Yaz burns her tongue on her tea, which is ridiculously sugary. She’s going to be on a sugar high after this and that’ll make it even harder to sit still.

“So come on, spill. Why did you break up with your ex? This is the kind of thing girls normally talk about over a cuppa, right?”

“You don’t have a cup of tea,” Yaz points out, emboldened when Max’s smile widens. “And something tells me you're not a normal girl.”

That prompts a genuine laugh and Yaz can feel the effects of it shooting up her spine. She’s never reacted to a laugh like that before.

“Far from it, but humour me.”

And it’s not like Yaz has anywhere else to go, especially in the middle of a tattoo. Max has well and truly cornered her, but Yaz finds she doesn’t actually mind. It’s easy to talk to Max, mainly because she doesn’t seem to judge.

“I got dumped. Out of the blue, far as I’m concerned. But looking back on it…I think I got that tattoo to try and fix things. It was a bad idea.”

Yaz grimaces. Has she said too much? The memory is still painful, even after all this time. She consoles herself with a custard cream.

“Hey. Don’t beat yourself up,” Max replies, her smile softening. “Tattoos are good therapy.”

“Is that why you have so many?”

Max laughs again. Max laughs a lot, Yaz thinks, and she likes that. She can see the laughter lines around her eyes and they make her look kind. They were hidden at first sight and it’s understandable that Yaz was distracted by all of the ink on show, but now she can see past that to the person underneath.

“Touché.”

Yaz pushes the boat out, keen to find common ground with this woman who’s making a mark, in more ways than one. She feels a spark with Max and she wonders if it’s mutual.

“Do you have any you changed your mind on?” It’s possibly a bit of a rude question but it’s a way for Yaz to pivot the focus of the conversation to Max.

“Not really,” Max shrugs. “Even ones with bad memories attached are still pieces of the puzzle. Closest thing I have to yours though?”

Max gets to her feet and Yaz reminds herself to breathe when she pulls down her jeans and the waistband of her boxers to expose her hip. Yaz blinks, wondering what she’s looking at. A tiny Roman numeral: xiii.

Even at the strange angle Yaz is looking at it from, she can tell it’s wonky and that the lines are shaky.

“13?”

“My lucky number. You got a tattoo for your ex…well, my ex tattooed me. And she is not a tattoo artist. She’s an archaeologist, specialising in Roman history, hence the numerals. Let’s just say she was gifted with her hands…but not when it came to a tattoo gun.”

Yaz feels the warmth returning to her chest. She’s glad to hear that she’s not the only one with an ex girlfriend, even if the thought of Max with another woman makes her feel a flicker of envy. Where has that come from?

Their conversation is interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door.

“Yaz? You in there?”

Max raises an eyebrow as she looks to Yaz for an explanation.

“That’ll be my sister,” Yaz groans. She’d forgotten to reply and left herself open to Sonya’s interference.

“Come in!” Max shouts, before Yaz can stop her.

Sonya pokes her head in the door and Max actually waves at her. Yaz wants to disappear. The last thing she needs is for them to interact, not when they’re in the middle of this particular conversation. Thankfully, Max excuses herself for a quick break before Sonya can start asking awkward questions.

“Sonya. What are you doing here?” Yaz hisses, aware that Max probably hasn’t gone far and could still be within earshot.

“You didn’t reply, Yaz. Just wanted to make sure you hadn’t passed out, like the good sister I am.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“I can see that,” Sonya replies, nodding to the plate of biscuits. “Max seems to be taking good care of you.”

“You haven’t even looked at the tattoo,” Yaz points out, and is mollified when Sonya reacts to the design much like she had.

“Oh wow. That’s going to look so much better. How much longer do you think you’ll be?”

Yaz doesn’t want to think about the end of this session. It’s not like she’ll be able to get another tattoo with Max for the foreseeable future and now she’s not looking forward to their session ending, even if it means she won’t have to sit through a tattoo.

“No idea,” she shrugs, already a little miserable at the thought of it.

“Well, let me know how you’re getting on. But I won’t wait up.”

“Sonya,” Yaz warns, glancing at the door to where, presumably, the kitchen is. Max must be conjuring mugs of tea out of somewhere, after all.

“What? She’s hot. All I’m saying is-”

The door opens and Sonya stops talking just in time.

“See you later?” Yaz says, glaring at her younger sister. She isn’t about to admit that Sonya is right. Max _is_ hot but she’s desperately trying to ignore how attractive she is for the sake of at least getting through her tattoo first. She doesn’t want to embarrass herself further.

“We’ll have to see about that,” Sonya smirks. She finally says goodbye and leaves them to it while Max readies the next machine.

“Alright, Yaz. You ready for round two?”

If Max heard any of their discussion she doesn’t let on, and Yaz relaxes into the chair as the session continues. She thinks about how it’s going to end, and if she’ll see Max again, and although the shading takes the best part of an hour, it flies by in a flurry of conversation. Yaz is almost disappointed when it’s over.

“There. We are done!” Max beams, squeezing liquid soap over the tender skin and wiping it down one last time. Yaz stares down at her leg in disbelief, both that it’s finally finished and that she has such a stunning piece of art on her leg.

Max removes her gloves and stretches, clearly waiting for Yaz’s opinion.

“I love it. I honestly don’t think I can say how much,” Yaz admits, and to her surprise and mild embarrassment she can feel tears pricking the corners of her eyes. It’s an emotional moment for several reasons and she’s glad that only Max is there to see it.

When she gets to her feet, she surprises both of them by pulling Max into a grateful hug.

“Thank you. I really mean it.” She lets go after a few seconds, and she’s sure Max’s cheeks have turned pink.

“My pleasure, Yaz. It suits you. Shall we get some pictures?”

If Yaz thought Max looked attractive before, she looks even more attractive with a DSLR in her hands. Yaz stands in front of a wall out the back of the shop - there was indeed a kitchen in the back - and watches as Max’s hands work the camera. Her eye is glued to the viewfinder and her gloves are off, so Yaz can finally look at them properly. It distracts her from how self-conscious she feels being photographed and she’s still staring at them when Max speaks up, several photographs in.

“You should model.”

“Ha!” Yaz responds without thinking. Max is surely joking, but it’s hard to tell because she can’t see her face.

“I’m serious. Gorgeous.”

Yaz feels her face burning and is glad the lens isn’t trained on it. She’s certain they’ve been flirting all evening and this is par for the course, so she probably should at least try and sustain it if this is going to be her last chance to see Max. Their time is rapidly running out now that her tattoo is complete.

“Are you complimenting your tattoo?”

“What do you think?” Max takes a burst of photographs and Yaz wonders how her leg looks through that lens.

“Say it again and I’ll see,” Yaz challenges. She really wants to see Max’s face because it’s hard to gauge how serious she’s being when it’s hidden behind the camera.

Max straightens and lets the camera fall away. She holds it in her hand as she steps into Yaz’s space, looks her in the eye, and brazenly repeats herself. Yaz can’t tear her eyes away, nor can she believe that Max has just complimented her so openly. Her confidence is a huge turn-on.

“Did that clear things up for you?” Max asks, tattoo forgotten. She’s clearly waiting for Yaz to respond and Yaz tells herself to be brave.

She answers by cupping her face with her hands and kissing her. She smiles into it when she feels Max’s free hand rest brazenly on her hip, like it belongs there.

“How long have you been holding onto that?” Max asks as they separate and up close, Yaz can finally see the colour of her eyes. They’re hazel, warm in the fading light of the summer evening. Inviting.

“Ever since you told me I was a good girl,” she admits in a rush. Those words have been on her mind for hours.

“You know, I thought I heard you make a sound when I said that. It was pretty hot.”

There’s no room for embarrassment this time because then Max kisses her and Yaz sighs into it as their mouths open and meld together. The arousal she’s been trying to dampen all afternoon comes back to life within milliseconds and her head falls back against the brickwork with a muffled thunk when Max pulls away.

“Do I get a reward?” Yaz asks, and her confidence is coming back in spades. She’s still got it. Thank fuck for that.

“What do you fancy?”

Max is making this way too easy but then perhaps that’s intentional. Perhaps she’s done this before, Yaz thinks, but she shelves that thought. All she cares about is the fact that she has Max to herself for now, and not just for a tattoo. She’s made many impulsive decisions in her time and although she’s lived to regret some, the events that have led her here seem like fate. After all, the flower tattoo was probably one she should have thought through more, but she can already tell that the cover-up is something she will love forever.

“You.” Yaz has no idea where this boldness has come from but she’s running with it and Max smirks as she contemplates her response.

“How about I wrap this up and then you can buy me a drink,” she finally suggests. “And then, if you play your cards right, you can see the rest of my tattoos.”

They make it to a grand total of one pub before Max suggests a night-cap at her place and Yaz leaps at the opportunity. She doesn’t want to go home. She enjoys Max’s company and she realises that she’s been hoping the night would head this way ever since they started flirting.

“Do you normally take clients home?” Yaz asks as Max lets them into her flat. She’s curious if Max makes a habit of this but she’s not sure how else to word it so she just says it. She’s sure Max won’t mind her being upfront and sure enough, she doesn’t.

“I take tattoo aftercare very seriously,” she grins, “but not in this sense, no.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” Max replies, and she bites her lip as she makes a show of looking Yaz up and down. “Why is that so hard to believe?”

“I dunno, you just seem so…cool,” Yaz says lamely. “I bet you have women falling at your feet.”

“Yeah, well, you haven’t seen my DVD collection. I’m a right nerd.”

At that, Yaz takes a look around Max’s flat. She’s surprised to note that it’s full of books, which she hadn’t really expected, and nice-looking furniture and some expensive looking speakers. Being a talented tattooist clearly pays well but Yaz doesn’t care about the material things. She’s more interested in Max, and she’s happy that Max doesn’t seem to make a habit of taking clients home.

“Seriously, though, Yaz? There’s just something about you that’s different.”

Yaz bites back her first response - _I bet you say that to all the girls_ \- because hasn’t Max just said that she doesn’t sleep around?

“Oh,” she says instead, faltering. Their harmless flirting has got them to this point but there’s a shift in tone that leaves her heart hammering in her chest, which is amplified by the way Max looks at her. Harmless flirting can only get them so far because what’s to come is a lot more serious.

“Yeah. But talking of aftercare, you could probably rinse that now, let it get some air. You can use my shower, if you like?”

And so Yaz finds herself using her tattoo artist’s shower, relieved to rinse off some of the sweat and grime of the day even if she can’t quite believe where she’s ended up. She helps herself to the soap and realises that she’s going to smell like Max afterwards, but that’s not a bad thing; it’s expensive-looking stuff and it leaves her skin smelling divine. Once she gingerly pats her leg dry, she hesitantly eyes her clothes. She doesn’t really want to put them back on now that she’s clean, but would she be assuming too much if she thought she’d be wasting her time getting dressed?

She takes a gamble and emerges from the bathroom in a towel under the pretence that she can show Max her freshly cleaned ink.

“Thought you might want to see it without all that clingfilm in the way,” Yaz offers when she sees Max sitting on the couch with a cold bottle of beer in her hand. She abandons it when Yaz emerges.

“Definitely. Come here a sec.” Max pats her thigh and spreads her legs a little and Yaz takes that as an invitation to sit on her lap, just about keeping herself decent with what’s left of the towel. Max’s arm comes up behind her back to keep her steady and her other comes to rest just above Yaz’s knee, underneath the fresh tattoo.

“Looks pretty good to me, it should heal nicely. How about you? You still happy with it?”

“I like it. A lot.”

Yaz wonders if getting a cover-up tattoo by someone she’s probably about to sleep with is a mistake. But she has a feeling she’ll look at this tattoo and have nothing but good memories. She’ll always think of Max, who is one of the most unique people she’s ever met. That won’t change.

“I meant to ask, your name…is it short for something?” Cool fingertips trace her spine and Yaz suppresses a shiver.

“Max? It means greatest. I’m not even joking.”

“Of course it does,” Yaz laughs, but even though Max has confidence she’s not arrogant with it. It’s a fascinating combination. She is clearly comfortable in her own skin and that is incredibly attractive.

“So were you going to put clothes on, Yaz, or…”

“Thought I might leave them off, if that’s alright with you?” Yaz swallows her nerves.

“Can’t say I’m too upset about that, to be honest.”

Cool fingertips now tease the edge of the towel that’s wrapped just under Yaz’s shoulder blades and Yaz eases her grip on the damp material, watching Max’s reaction as she sees her fully naked for the first time.

“Knew it. Gorgeous.”

Any witty response Yaz might have had dies on her tongue when Max dips her head to take a nipple into her mouth, cupping her breast with her free hand. Without thinking, Yaz’s own hand tangles itself in Max’s hair and she arches her back when Max discovers just how sensitive her breasts are.

Yaz almost forgets she has a freshly tattooed leg but when she has to straighten it suddenly to keep her balance she gasps in a mix of pleasure and pain as the movement pulls on the tender skin.

“Alright?” Max instantly stops what she’s doing and Yaz surmises she must be able to hear the difference in the sounds she’s making. She spends her days inflicting pain, after all.

“Yeah, just forgot about that,” Yaz nods at her tattoo. “You’re distracting me.”

“Come on,” Max murmurs. “I’ve got an idea of what I’d like to do with you.”

And just like she had in the tattoo shop, Yaz lets herself be guided by Max. She leaves herself in her very capable hands, excited to see what she can achieve, and when Max tells her to make herself comfortable on the bed, Yaz recalls how she’d encouraged her to do the same when she’d prepared for her tattoo. She gets deja vu.

But when Max pulls out a strap on from one of the drawers in her bedroom, Yaz knows this part of the evening will be devoted to pleasure, rather than pain. She watches, eyes as big as saucers, as Max tugs off her jeans but leaves her vest top on.

“I thought I was gonna see the rest of your tattoos?” Yaz manages to get out, but her mouth has gone dry at the sight of Max holding the toy.

“Later. You gonna be a good girl and take this first?”

Those words again. Yaz can feel Max watching her, waiting for a reaction. If she’d been wearing underwear, it would have been ruined.

“Yeah,” she croaks. She’ll do anything at this point but she is more than a little aroused at the idea of what Max is going to do to her. When the other woman drops the toy to the bed with a predatory grin, Yaz is confused for the space of about three seconds. Then Max drops to her knees at the end of the bed, as if in worship. She wraps her hands around Yaz’s hips and pulls Yaz to her, mindful of her leg.

Behind her, mounted on the wall, is a mirror just like the one in the studio - floor to ceiling - and Yaz can see the musculature of Max’s shoulders as she moves, but then her focus is brought forward to the face between her legs, which is looking to her for approval. She appreciates the gesture, which is more of a formality than anything at this point, and no sooner has she nodded than a warm tongue is gliding through her and her head falls back to the mattress.

She sighs happily as one of Max’s hands reaches up to play with her nipples and she gets to experience just how dextrous she is in an entirely different way. It doesn’t take long to work her up but Max is clearly enjoying herself, eyes closed as she mouths at her and not letting up for a single second.

Yaz reminds herself to breathe, and then she has to remind herself again when she feels the pressure of fingertips at her entrance.

“Ok?”

“Yeah,” Yaz moans, and the sound is decadent and surprising. She never sounds like this during sex and she hears her breath hitch, out of her control, as Max finally enters her, curling and rubbing expertly.

“Oh, fuck,” she whimpers, and she’s sure she hears Max muffle a laugh against her but she continues, relentlessly driving Yaz to the edge with her skilled hands and tongue.

She comes twice before Max finally stops and reaches for the toy beside them, adjusting it around her hips until it's secure. Yaz props herself up on her elbows and watches through a haze as Max does something she hadn’t expected: she retrieves a condom from the bedside table and niftily rolls it down the toy, tossing the wrapper to the floor. Somehow, that turns Yaz on even more. It’s an extra consideration that makes her feel safe and the way Max moves is magnetic. Yaz is fixated on her hands in particular, and the way they move.

“You doing ok?” Max asks, as if she hasn’t just spent all day tattooing and then half an hour eating her out. Yaz has no idea where she gets her stamina from but she isn’t complaining.

“It’s been a while,” Yaz admits as she eyes the toy between her legs. She’s a little nervous but excited at the idea of Max taking her that way. And she’s been treading that line between nerves and excitement all day; the only difference now is that instead of a tattoo, she’s getting fucked.

“I’ll look after you, babe. Try to relax.”

Max strokes her cheek in a surprisingly tender gesture and when her thumb traces over Yaz’s lip, Yaz captures the tip of it with her teeth. She can’t quite get over the term of endearment and she hopes Max will call her that again before the night is through because it makes her stomach clench in anticipation.

“You know, this might be easier if you…”

Max trails off and gestures with her hands in a way that suggests Yaz should get onto her hands and knees. “I don’t want to press against your leg.”

“Sure,” Yaz breathes, a little disappointed that she won’t get to watch Max. Then, she recalls the mirror. She turns so that she’s facing it and it takes Max a moment to cotton on but she climbs onto the bed without a word and when she meets Yaz’s eye in the reflection she makes a low sound of approval.

“Clever girl,” she commends, running her palm up and down the length of Yaz’s back. The other is holding the toy and Yaz shivers as she runs the tip of it through her folds. She’s so wet and swollen that she almost can’t feel the pressure but when it starts to push into her, blunt and thicker than she expects, she definitely feels it.

Max clasps her shoulder to help ease her back onto it, slow as molasses, and Yaz relaxes into it as best she can. She keeps her gaze focused on the mirror, on Max’s face. She has a very striking face and it’s almost impossible to look away.

“You’re doing so well, babe.” There they are, those words again, and they work because Yaz feels a fresh rush of arousal in response that helps Max ease the final inches in.

“Fuck,” Max exhales heavily as their legs press together, and the air blows loose strands of hair out of her face but she’s too focused on the sight of the toy to notice. Yaz wishes she could see it so she does the next best thing. She balances on one arm, reaching down between her legs to feel how she’s split over the toy. She moans as her fingertips encounter slick latex and solid thickness and then the molten heat of herself spread around Max. Max, who is looking at her again through hooded eyes, her arms tense as she holds Yaz steady.

“That’s it, Yaz. Touch yourself,” she encourages, and Yaz finds her clit easily. She moans loudly as she passes over it, again and again, and without even realising her hips start to move as she chases the pressure.

“You’re doing so well, Yaz. That’s it,” Max soothes, and then her other hand is secure around Yaz’s hip as she starts to meet Yaz half way. The sound of the toy is slick as it starts to move, and Yaz is sure she’s never been this wet before.

“Fuck,” she whispers, eyes fluttering closed at the feel. Her vocabulary has been reduced to one or two words and Max’s laugh is filthy and laced with arousal, Yaz can hear it. She forces herself to look up and lock eyes with Max again and they openly watch one another as Max starts to move in earnest, satisfied that Yaz can take it. “Fuck,” Yaz repeats, louder this time, and with each stroke Max is making it very hard to keep her eyes open but she doesn’t want to look away.

“You’re taking this so well, Yaz. You look so fucking hot,” Max breathes, and there’s the sound of their skin meeting now as she starts to fuck her faster. Yaz cries out again, and it’s a lost cause; she can’t keep her eyes open any longer and she feels the strength in her arm wane as she passes over her clit again, bumping against Max as she thrusts steadily inside her.

Her head snaps up as she feels fingers next to her own. A glance in the mirror confirms that Max is reaching around.

“Brace yourself,” Max says, and she could be referring to the fact that Yaz is slumping to the bed or because she’s about to amp things up but Yaz knows she is a lost cause either way. She does as she’s told and braces herself on her hands just in time: clever fingers move fast against her clit and Max deepens her thrusts, angling her hips so that she hits a spot she’s clearly learned evokes the loudest response. Yaz is screwed.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she chants with every roll of Max’s hips. Her skin feels like it’s tingling. Max’s hand grips her hip loosely, and she can feel every ounce of pressure from it. Perhaps the tattoo has left her sensitive but Yaz suspects her response is entirely Max-driven. Her theory is confirmed when Max keeps speaking.

“God you’re beautiful. Watching you take me like this is something else.”

Yaz clenches hard around the toy, mouth open in a silent cry as she reacts to the words. How has Max read her so easily? It doesn’t seem fair. The teasing pressure against her clit increases and that drives a groan from Yaz’s mouth, because she can feel it. She’s going to come.

“I’m gonna…” she trails off, because sentences are hard. She’s sure it’s pretty obvious what she was about to say.

“Such a good girl, Yaz. You gonna come for me?” Max is breathing fast, and she’s masterful at what she does. She seems to know just what to say and do and really there’s nothing Yaz can do but come for her. Her fingers grip the sheets and she whites out, vaguely aware of Max moving behind her.

She can’t remember the last time she came that hard - at least, not with someone else - and she shudders with the force of it. Max has the presence of mind to pull out once the peak has passed and guide her onto her back so that she doesn’t land on her leg but it’s a close call because Yaz is completely boneless and nearly face-plants the sheets.

“Easy, easy,” Max soothes her, and Yaz feels like she’s floating. She’s being cared for so well.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, blissed out. Her eyes are closed in sheer pleasure and she feels the bed dip as Max moves. “You…wow.”

Max laughs again and Yaz cracks open an eye, then the other when she realises that Max has finally taken her top off. Her torso is a sight to behold: the tattoos over her ribs frame her abs and her breasts are so appealing that Yaz simply has to touch them.

“I thought that was my reward but this definitely is,” she sighs happily, and Max shifts closer so that Yaz can have her fun.

“I’m all about rewards, me,” she says, and Yaz can imagine it. Max is one of the most considerate lovers she’s ever had.

“Now it’s time for yours,” Yaz replies, injecting some confidence into her voice. She tries not to worry about whether she might fall short.

“I don’t think it’ll take long,” Max gasps as Yaz tweaks her nipple. “Watching you really was fucking hot.”

“You’re fucking hot,” Yaz replies, as if that makes sense, but now isn’t the time for sensible conversation. She contemplates the limitations her leg is going to throw up and tells Max to sit on her face.

She takes great pleasure in watching Max’s reaction. For the first time that day, she has the upper hand.

“My leg’s going to get in the way,” she explains, and it doesn’t take much more convincing for Max to do as Yaz suggests.

Even so, Yaz has to encourage her downwards and she keeps a solid grip on her hips to make sure she gets as much as she can out of it. It works; before long Max seems to lose her reservations and rides Yaz’s face, telling Yaz just how good she is at that and how she’s going to come in her mouth.

Tattooed thighs clench around Yaz’s head as she does just that and they muffle the sound Max makes as she comes but Yaz is too busy teasing her climax to a conclusion to mind much.

She’s breathing hard when Max climbs off her and flops onto the sheets beside her.

“You’re lethal with that thing,” Max says, and then she kisses her arousal from Yaz’s mouth as if to demonstrate what body part she’s talking about.

Yaz sighs into the kiss and mourns the end of it only briefly because now that Max is naked and next to her, she can take a better look at her tattoos.

There’s one on her neck that attracts her attention, because it’s over her jugular and Yaz can see it moving fast, jumping in time with Max’s heartbeat. She feels the urge to kiss it, she’s not sure why, but then Max’s fingers start to card through her hair as she lingers and she resolves to take her time.

She kisses downwards, and does a double take when she recognises a design. It’s the heart from Max’s profile picture, tattooed on the skin over her heart.

“I know this one. It’s your profile picture, right?”

Max seems surprised that Yaz has connected the dots.

“Not many people see that one,” she admits. The placement of it clearly means something but Yaz senses it would be wise not to ask. “That was my very first. Two hearts, one visible and one hidden.”

As before, Yaz simply kisses it and Max sighs contentedly at the feel of her lips. “Thank you for not asking what it means.”

And now Yaz is even more curious. She wonders if she will ever find out.

“That’s not the done thing, is it? I hated when people asked me about my old one. Now I won’t. I’ll show it off.”

“I’m honoured,” Max grins. Her hair is mussed up and she looks entirely disheveled but Yaz knows it’s because they just had very good sex and it makes her heart beat a little faster. Max looks softer, somehow, and it’s not just because she’s naked.

“Honestly,” Max continues, and her expression becomes more sober. “What you said earlier…I hope you don’t take this the wrong way but I’m glad you’re not with your ex anymore. It doesn’t sound like she was good enough for you.”

Yaz recalls how she’d opened up to Max in the pub. It had felt like a date, and she wonders if Max thinks the same. Talking about her last relationship had felt like first date material, as well - explaining why she was single could at least clarify that she was very much looking for someone new in her life. She doesn’t mind that Max has an opinion on her ex because it suggests that she might have a vested interest, but only Max would get away with being that blunt and that cocky. Slipping back into their flirty conversation comes as easily as breathing.

“Oh? And who is right for me?” Yaz raises an eyebrow in challenge.

“Hmm.” Max taps her chin with her finger. There’s a tiny skull tattooed between the knuckles. “I think you have a thing for blondes with lots of tattoos.”

Yaz laughs at her boldness.

“Check and check.”

“Well isn’t it your lucky day, Yaz. I know someone who fits the bill.”

“Really? Where is she?” Yaz frowns, and looks around the room.

Max scoffs, and shifts so that she’s on her knees. Yaz drops the pretence the moment she does. Naked Max is very distracting.

“She’ll be between your legs in a minute.”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

The message comes through as Yaz reaches the corner of Max’s street and she stops to read it just outside a coffee shop. It’s still early on a Sunday morning and it’s the only place open but there are still a surprising number of people inside and Yaz thinks she’ll need to join them. She didn’t get a wink of sleep, but she’s delighted about that.

_hey, yaz. if you’re free this week, you should come by the shop and I can check your leg is healing ok_

Yaz can’t help but smile at the speed with which Max has reached out. She’d pegged her as the type of person to be too cool to message first, or to leave long gaps between responses, and she’s glad to be proved wrong. She debates her reply as she joins the short queue inside the coffee shop and is once again pleasantly surprised when Max texts back almost instantly. Both of her assumptions have been proved wrong. 

_All part of the service?_

_i go above and beyond for my best clients_

Yaz laughs at that. She resists the urge to put emojis in her responses because she can already get a feel for Max’s voice without them and she hopes the reverse is true. Everything about their interactions feels far more adult than any other she’s had. Using emojis now would feel like unnecessary window dressing and part of Max’s appeal is that she is straight to the point; Yaz can be blunt, too. 

She grabs her coffee with a grin, which the barista seems bemused by. Yaz is by far the most cheerful person in the coffee shop that morning, and she can’t help but share her happiness.

_That’s one way of putting it_

She takes a deep breath of morning air and starts heading in the direction of home. It won’t take much more than half an hour to get there and even though she is more than a little sleep-deprived, Yaz opts to walk the distance. It’s not really a walk of shame, per se, but it seems fairly obvious that she’s wearing clothes from the previous day given the coolness of the morning and the shorts that she’s wearing. Yaz takes a drink to get rid of the chill and checks her phone again.

_you ain’t seen nothing yet, babe_

Yaz almost chokes on her coffee. She already knows that is no idle boast and she’s so distracted by the message that she steps off the pavement without looking, straight into the path of a passing cyclist. He rings his bell aggressively, and Yaz pulls back from the kerb with a grimace, spilling coffee over her top in the process. 

“Oi! Watch it!” he calls out, shaking his head in irritation. 

“Sorry!” Yaz calls back, relieved that there are very few people around to witness what just happened. She’s well and truly distracted. But she didn’t just have amazing sex to get run over before they could do it again, so she reluctantly puts her phone away to try and make it home in one piece.

Sonya interrogates her the moment she gets home. She’s still pulling her key from the lock when she starts asking Yaz where she’s been. When Yaz finally confesses that she went for drinks with Max, Sonya gives her a once-over and promptly asks if she got any sleep. 

“I…”

Yaz trails off as she contemplates the events of the previous night. And the early hours of the morning, technically.

“That good, huh?” Sonya nudges her. “I’m happy for you, you know. I could tell there was something the moment I walked in,” she preens. 

“Really?” Yaz frowns. She’s not sure she believes her sister but she’s intrigued that someone else picked up on the insane chemistry she felt with Max. 

“Ohhh yeah. There was this...tension. Didn’t you notice how quickly I left?” Now that Yaz thinks about it, Sonya did capitulate easily and without much in the way of interrogation, which is very unlike her. “I’m guessing you resolved that tension?” 

“Yeah,” Yaz replies, with a shrug. She’s still on cloud nine but it feels strange to admit that it actually happened. It still doesn’t feel real.

“Are you going to see her again?”

Yaz thinks of the messages she exchanged that morning. At least she has an excuse to see Max again, but she hopes she’ll have continued reason to do so. 

“I think so, yeah. She wants to check my tattoo.”

Sonya scoffs. “‘Check your tattoo’ my arse. Since when do they take another look?”

Yaz knows her sister is right. She’s only had a handful of tattoos but she’s never had a follow-up appointment. And she can’t deny the thrill she feels when she considers seeing Max again. It’s been a while since she’s been in this position or felt quite like this: alive with possibility. 

“So let’s see it, then.”

“Huh?” Yaz pulls herself back to the present. 

“The tattoo,” Sonya deadpans. 

“Oh. Yeah.” Yaz pulls up her shorts leg but Sonya is too busy making fun of her to really look at it. 

“Wow. You really didn’t get any sleep, did you?” she laughs, and Yaz rolls her eyes. 

“Shut up,” she protests, but it’s weak. The coffee is about to wear off and the walk has tired her out. “I’m going to take a nap. Are you in later?”

“Nah, going out for lunch and then we’re going to go see that new film tonight. You have the place to yourself.”

It’s the sound of Sonya closing the door behind her that wakes Yaz a few hours later. She really was exhausted and she still feels groggy but to sleep any longer would well and truly mess up her sleep schedule and she has work this week. With a sigh, Yaz resigns herself to joining the land of the living. It’s made easier when her leg twinges, reminding her that she is at least already half awake. She gingerly pulls back the sheets - her skin has already left a mark on them - and takes a proper look at it. It’s still warm to the touch and she can already tell that it’s going to drive her mad with itching within the week, but it’s worth it. The art that will be left behind will be worth it. 

She can’t help but think of the symbolism of it all. Her old tattoo and her ex are now gone; she has a new tattoo and the person who gave it to her is someone she’s intrigued by. But she can’t think of it as simply as that; one does not replace the other. 

Still, there’s something about Max that means Yaz cannot get her out of her mind. She hasn’t felt like this about anyone for a while. She hadn’t dated after the breakup, despite the best efforts of her sister and her friends, and when she looks at the unpacked boxes in her room, she wonders if she was clinging onto the past. Instead of finding a place of her own, she’s lived with Sonya for eight months and hasn’t even unpacked half her stuff. Being dumped had truly sucked and it had knocked her confidence but now...now, she feels it coming back. For eight months she’s been a hermit. Now, she wants fun. She wants Max, really, but she can’t assume anything. 

The thought of Max reminds her of the subtle aches elsewhere. Her limbs are tired, but there’s also a pleasant ache between her legs that Max is very much responsible for. She hadn’t given Yaz much of a rest and she’s feeling it now, but she doesn’t mind in the slightest. Yaz sighs and scrubs her hand over her face, and then she smells Max’s soap on her skin and sighs again. She doesn’t want to shower but she really should. 

As she had done only the previous morning, Yaz checks her phone one last time before leaving bed and once again, she does a double take when she sees a post from Max on her Instagram feed. 

She recognises her tattoo, first, and then the profile picture of two hearts sitting at the top of the post. Seeing herself on Max’s feed after spending several months passively scrolling through it on an almost daily basis gives her a start. Then she reads the caption. 

_really enjoyed doing this one._

That’s it. At face value, the words are simple; deep down, Yaz is borderline euphoric, because the implication is that it’s not just the tattoo that Max is commenting on. She already has a suspicion about what she’s seen and it’s proved right when she looks at the other pictures on Max’s feed. She never writes captions on any of them. Hers is the only tattoo she has something to say about. Yaz closes the app down with a grin but she wishes there were photos of Max on there for her to look at. 

Inspired, Yaz texts her before she leaves bed. She didn’t reply earlier, after all. It’d be rude to leave it much longer and she resolves to make up for it by being upfront. She thinks Max will appreciate it.

_I saw your post. When you said you really enjoyed doing this one, did you mean me or the tattoo?_

Max is a little slower to respond this time and Yaz worries at the skin of her thumb while she waits. Her grin broadens when Max’s reply finally comes through.

_both_

“Fuck,” she whispers, hands trembling a little in excitement as she responds. 

_When can we do that again?_

_you aren’t going to like this, but...when it’s properly healed_

Yaz swears again, but it’s an unhappier sound. It’s sod’s law that the thing that brought them together is now going to get in her way. Max is being a very conscientious artist. One of them has to be responsible, after all.

_Remind me how long that’ll take?_

_about three weeks, maybe a little less_

Yaz fully deflates at that. 

_you’ll have to take it easy til then. last night was ok because it was new but when it starts to heal…_

Yaz remembers all too well what a healing tattoo is like. She hadn’t given much thought to the aftermath at the time, and how uncomfortable her leg is going to be under her uniform trousers. She’s impatient.

_I don’t think I can wait that long_

_you’ll just have to take matters into your own hands for now, babe_

Yaz finds herself sinking back into bed, her plans for a shower shelved as the conversation takes an interesting turn. 

_but I can help sort you out. i always like to help_

Yaz is already wet at the thought of exactly how Max had sorted her out. 

_I’m thinking about what you did last night_

_yeah? you liked that? we can do that again_

Yaz’s sigh is more of a moan and she freezes before she remembers she has the house to herself. The thought helps her relax and she gets comfortable, feeling bold. It takes all of a minute to remove the last items of clothing; her coffee-stained top and yesterday’s shorts are already on the floor.

_Please. I liked feeling you inside me_

_i’d have to make sure you were ready for me first. i can still remember how you taste. you should taste yourself. you taste incredible._

Yaz reads the words several times and does just that, sliding her hand between her legs and gasping at the feel of how wet she is. It’s going to be very hard to continue typing at this rate so she sends one final message after she licks her fingers clean.

_I wish you were here_

She’s just getting into a rhythm when her phone rings. It’s Max. Of course it is. She picks up before she can catch her breath and Max picks up on it instantly.

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you out of bed,” Max laughs, and the sound sends something shooting down Yaz’s spine. “Pretend I’m there. What am I doing?”

“Fucking me,” Yaz sighs, completely free of any inhibitions she might once have had. Max removes those for her. 

“With my fingers?” There’s the faint sound of rustling down the line and Yaz wants to ask what Max is doing, but she’s currently too busy trying not to come faster than the speed of light. That would be a little embarrassing, especially since Max isn’t even touching her.

“Yeah.” Yaz hears Max encourage her to slip inside. She wishes they were Max’s fingers or even better, her dick, but she’ll have to pretend for the time being; she tightens around her own fingers when she pictures it. 

“How many?”

“Two,” Yaz sighs breathily, focusing on the sound of Max’s voice. Her phone is next to her on her pillow and her eyes are closed as she listens intently. 

“Good girl. Nice and slow.”

“Fuck,” Yaz moans, louder than she means to, but she does as she’s told. She imagines what Max had looked like between her legs and how she felt and she takes her time, but even then she knows it won’t take long with that visual in mind. 

“Yaz? You still there?”

“Yeah. I’m close,” she bites out, breathing hard. 

“I want to hear you come.” There’s a request in there, Yaz can hear it, but also flat-out desire that Max doesn’t bother to hide and it drives her wild. 

“Oh, god,” she whimpers. “What have you done to me?” Everything Max says just does something to her. Every word has an effect. She’s not even touching Yaz and she is putty in her hands. 

“I don’t know, but you’ve done the same to me,” Max admits, and Yaz hears a slight tremble in her voice. 

“Are you...”

“Yeah. I’m waiting for you, though.”

The thought of Max touching herself while she’s been talking to Yaz is what finally sets her off.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m coming,” she groans, ignoring Max’s instructions to move slow and bringing herself off to the thought of her. She vaguely hears Max as she sighs down the line in response; clearly she’s just done the same. How can it have been less than 24 hours and they’re already doing this? Yaz cannot get enough. 

“Fuck,” she groans, utterly wiped out. Her heart is hammering. She picks up the phone with her free hand.

“You can say that again,” Max laughs in her ear, and Yaz shivers at the sound. “I think I’m going to need a cold shower.”

“Well I think I’m going one-up you and just move into the freezer at this rate.”

“Wherever you end up, look after that tattoo. And come by in a few days? I’ve got to go.”

Yaz briefly wonders where Max has to go but it’s not really something she feels like she should ask about after _that_. And as much as she wishes they could talk for longer, she needs to at least try and play it cool. She doesn’t want to burn things out too fast and with the way things are currently going, it’ll be hard to take things slow.

“Yeah, I will. I’ll see you soon?” But as they wind up the call, Yaz wonders just how long she can wait. 

Yaz lasts three days. She chalks her impatience up to the fact that her tattoo is already driving her slowly insane, especially under her uniform. Three days is long enough, she reasons, for Max to get a look at how it’s healing. Any longer and it might be too long, and she doesn’t want to risk that. Yaz doesn’t consider what ‘too long’ even means, or what Max would be able to do if it’s not healing well, but she knows that the reason for her visit is only superficially to do with her fresh ink. 

She’s already in town and on her lunch break so it makes logical sense to stop by the studio. As before, Max and the older artist - Graham - are working and Ryan is manning the reception desk, although he’s currently on his phone and shouting out song choices that the others shoot down. 

Yaz can’t help but stare at Max. It’s the first time she’s actually seen her since their night together and she’s suddenly nervous at their proximity. But Max is unaware that Yaz has arrived; she’s finishing up a tattoo, Yaz can see, and she’s concentrating just as hard as she had when she’d started working on Yaz. Her focus is impressive and Yaz takes the opportunity to watch her at work. Inevitably, her eye wanders to what Max is wearing: a muscle tank that shows a glimpse of the inked skin over her ribs and some ripped skinny jeans. Her knees are exposed through the tears and they’re inked, too. Yaz recalls seeing them for the first time and wondering how on earth she could stand the pain of getting her kneecaps tattooed.

She doesn’t realise she’s staring until Ryan clears his throat. 

“Alright, Yaz?” he asks, confused. “You here for another one?”

“Nah,” Yaz shakes her head, loath to look away. “Max just wanted to see how it’s healing.”

Ryan’s confusion ebbs and realisation dawns. Quite what he’s realised, Yaz isn’t sure, but she hopes he won’t pry.

“Oh really?” He turns and calls out. “Max? Police for ya.”

He’s worded it deliberately, that much is obvious, and the mention of police catches Max by surprise because she immediately stops what she’s doing. 

When she sees Yaz her expression changes completely, from concern to excitement, and then to something softer. Yaz feels her heart rate spike when their eyes meet.

“Hi, Yaz. Give me five? Just going to take some photos and I’ll be right back.”

Yaz watches Max depart with her client and wonders if she should have come at a more sensible time. As it stands, half her lunch break has already gone and she’s not even spoken to Max yet.

“I saw the picture of your tattoo on Instagram,” Ryan pipes up. “Looks pretty sick. And it sounds like Max enjoyed herself too,” he adds, in a tone that makes Yaz want to roll her eyes. Thankfully, he’s interrupted by Graham. 

“Ryan, make yourself useful for once and put the kettle on?” he suggests, waiting until Ryan actually moves before he turns to Yaz.

“He likes to stir things up, that boy. Pay him no mind.”

Yaz smiles at him in thanks. He seems like a grandfatherly figure, almost. The three of them are an unusual combination, but Yaz doesn’t have long to ponder their dynamic before the door to the kitchen opens again and Max pokes her head through as her client leaves. 

“Let’s take a look at your leg.”

Ryan is taking his time making tea, it seems, because he’s still in the kitchen when Yaz walks through and faffing with the milk. Max raises an eyebrow when it becomes apparent that he’s not going to leave them to it.

“Come on, we have a break room through here,” she says, leading Yaz to a room just off the kitchen. It contains a couch and a TV with a PS4 underneath it - Ryan’s, Yaz guesses - and a desk piled high with sketches that are clearly Max’s, judging by the style. Yaz is instantly curious and wishes she could take a look, but that’s not why she’s here. 

Max shuts the door behind them and after a moment, the sound of music from the studio gets louder, and then quieter. Ryan has finally left the kitchen and they’re alone, in a room together. Just the two of them. Yaz feels her palms start to sweat. 

“How big is this place?” she asks, eager to make conversation and mask how nervous she feels now that she finally has Max to herself. “There are more rooms than I thought.”

“Wait ‘til you see the sex dungeon.”

Yaz’s eyes widen and Max laughs, and whatever tension is there dissipates. It’s always strange to see someone for the first time after a night spent together, Yaz reasons. She’s just glad that her nerves are fading. It helps that Max is so at ease. 

“So, did you wanna…” Max points at her trousers and Yaz nods. It’s probably a good thing that she takes them off herself. 

“Yeah. Let me just…”

She eases her trousers down to her ankles, careful to avoid touching the irritated skin. Then it strikes her that she’s basically left standing in her underwear. 

“I’d forgotten just how annoying these can be when they’re healing,” she says, wondering if she should have chosen to wear something a bit sexier, but Max is already dropping to a crouch as she pulls on some clean gloves, zeroed in on her tattoo. Yaz swallows hard. They’ve been here before, she reminds herself. She just needs to keep calm, but that’s easier said than done when Max is that close to her bare skin. Yaz wonders how she managed to sit through a tattoo, but then again she was literally sitting for the duration. Now, she needs to try and not wobble. 

“It’s about to get even more annoying.”

Max is gentle as she inspects her skin and neither of them say anything for a moment. The atmosphere is loaded. They haven’t been this close in days and Yaz itches to touch her. She clasps her hands by her sides for fear of reaching out without thinking.

“Looking good,” Max continues. “I can pop some cream on it while you’re here. Should last you ‘til bed.”

Yaz nods. She wants to feel Max touch her but the mention of bed makes her brain short-circuit. Then Max does touch her again, so carefully and methodically that Yaz has to bite her lip so as not to make a sound. 

“Didn’t know you were in the police,” Max says as she smoothes cream over her skin. It’s cool and soothing and it’s a relief after a morning spent under itchy fabric.

“There’s probably a whole load you don’t know about me,” Yaz replies, trying not to tense. 

“I bet. How about you fill me in over dinner tomorrow?”

“I- dinner?”

Yaz knows she shouldn’t be caught out by how upfront Max is but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t pleasantly surprised at the suggestion. She could pretend she has plans, but what’s the point? She wants to go to dinner with Max. 

“Dinner,” Max confirms, not dissuaded by Yaz’s hesitation. “Whatever you like, I’ll eat pretty much anything.”

And Yaz knows it’s bad when her mind drifts to the gutter but then Max winks at her in that way she has and Yaz realises she’s not the only one there. She actually does wobble a little, then.

“Sounds good to me,” she murmurs as Max finishes up and rests a supporting hand on her knee. “You can choose what we do.”

“Perfect. I’m sure I’ll think of something fun.” 

Yaz can’t tell if there is another layer of meaning to what they’re saying. She hopes there is, because when Max straightens she kisses her cheek rather than her mouth. The contact is fleeting, but Max is so close that Yaz can smell her and her eyes flutter briefly as she inhales. A date with Max has the potential for more than just a kiss on the cheek. Yaz clings to that thought because it will have to see her through to the next evening.

“I’ll text you later? I’m guessing you probably have to get back to work,” Max nods at her trousers, and Yaz recalls that they are currently bunched around her ankles and that she is still standing in her underwear. She’s a mess, and they haven’t even touched each other. 

“And hey, Yaz?” Max’s hand is on the doorknob but she waits until Yaz is decent before she opens the door. “I’m looking forward to it.”

The rest of Yaz’s shift is a bit of a joke but she is grateful that she at least makes it through it in one piece, even if she can’t concentrate for the remainder of the afternoon. The next one is even more ridiculous because she can think of nothing but her plans with Max. 

Where are they going to go? All Yaz knows is that Max has suggested a time and place to meet. That makes it a little harder to know what to wear but even so, it doesn’t take long for Yaz to think of an outfit: a dress she’d once bought on a whim but never wears. Having spent all week in trousers, she wants her leg to be free from material and it’s cool in the warm weather. That, and she actually wants to make the effort. If she’s only going to have one dinner with Max - she doesn’t want to assume how things will go - she wants it to be memorable. It’s been a while since she’s been on a first date and this probably counts, even if they hadn’t actually said the word. 

Yaz is glad that she made the effort when she sees Max outside the pub later that evening. She’s waiting for Yaz, leaning against the wall and scanning the crowd in a crisp white shirt and braces. Yaz falters when she realises that she’s rolled up the sleeves to show off her arms, and that the top three buttons are undone. She’s still gawping when Max spies her and strolls over, hands in her pockets and utterly relaxed in the evening sun.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

Yaz feels like she could spontaneously combust in that moment and nobody would notice the difference. 

“Hey, yourself.”

Max holds out her hand and Yaz takes it without question.

“Give me a spin?”

The material of her dress flows as Yaz moves; she feels more feminine in those few seconds than she possibly ever has, and she discovers she likes it. She wonders if that is down to the way Max is watching her move. She likes the way she feels around Max and she can’t help the delighted laugh that emerges as she turns on the spot. She’s never been twirled before. It’s never even crossed her mind that it’s a thing people might do in real life. 

Other than Max, Yaz can sense other people looking at them and for a brief moment, she feels self-conscious. But then she sees the way Max looks at her, and how comfortable she seems, and Yaz decides not to care if people are looking. She feels safe and content in Max’s company. It doesn’t hurt that she catches a glimpse of their reflection in the pub window and sees just how good they look together. No wonder they’re drawing attention. Max is magnetic. 

“Well don’t you look stunning.” Max gives her another kiss on the cheek once Yaz slows to a stop. She’s a little dizzy from the twirling and the attention and she places her hands on Max’s shoulders to steady herself. 

“I don’t think I have words for how you look,” she admits, a little breathless. She really is lost for words. “I think you look...handsome.” As soon as she says the word, it fits. To her delight, Max’s eyebrows raise in surprise and approval.

“That works,” she grins, clearly pleased by the compliment. 

Yaz is struck by an idea when she registers Max’s reaction. She pulls out her phone. 

“Can I get a picture? Just to mark the occasion.”

But Max hesitates and Yaz wonders if she shouldn’t have asked. She also wonders if her reaction has anything to do with the fact that she hasn’t posted pictures of herself online. 

“I won’t post it anywhere. This is just for me, I promise,” Yaz reassures her. That seems to put her mind at ease; Max rests her hand on her lower back as Yaz takes a selfie and after a few fumbled attempts, she finally procures a decent picture of them. She takes a good look at it before she puts her phone away; they really do look good together, and she knows for a fact that she’s going to be looking at that picture before she goes to bed.

Max’s hand lingers on her back as she guides Yaz towards the restaurant she’s chosen. Throughout the course of the evening, her hands are rarely out of sight or contact with Yaz, which makes dinner a rather long and drawn-out affair because Yaz is fixated on them. She enjoys the pace because she doesn’t want their evening to end. Time simply melts away and she only realises how slowly she’s eating when her food gets cold. 

They’re so wrapped up in conversation that neither of them notice the freak rainstorm raging outside until they make a move to leave. 

“Oh, shit,” Yaz comments when she sees the downpour. The restaurant isn’t far from the road they can hail taxis on, but she’s going to get soaked within seconds. Her dress is white, and Yaz wishes she’d thought to check the forecast. She’d been too caught up in thoughts of Max to consider more practical elements of their date. 

But Max is undeterred and simply steps out into it, opening her arms wide and looking up to the sky. She’s drenched almost instantly. 

“Come on, Yaz. It’s warm. Like a shower.”

“We’ll get soaked!”

“You can come and get dry at mine,” Max replies, and her hair is already clinging to her face. “You’ll have to get a little wet, either way.”

Yaz nearly snorts but manages to save herself.

“Is that a euphemism?” 

“No funny business until that leg heals. Scout’s honour.”

Yaz considers her options. This isn’t quite how she’d expected the evening to end, although it’s a much better prospect. But they’re shouting over the noise of the rain and this is a conversation that should probably continue in private. 

“Alright,” she shrugs, and steps into the downpour. As predicted, she’s soaked within seconds, but it’s far more fun when Max is there, laughing at the ridiculousness of the weather. 

Despite the warmth of the evening, rain is still rain, and Yaz is fully shivering by the time they arrive at Max’s flat. Rather than stripping her clothes from her, as Yaz had daydreamed about, Max makes a beeline for her chest of drawers and pulls out some dry clothes. She drips all over the floor in the process but she doesn’t seem to notice, more concerned with getting Yaz dry. 

“Here you go, Yaz. Choose what you like from there. The shower’s all yours if you’re still cold.”

Her protests that Max should go first fall on deaf ears, and so Yaz finds herself using Max’s shower again, even using her soap again, but this time she actually puts some clothes on afterwards: a pair of men’s boxer shorts and an old t-shirt that’s soft and smells of Max. Yaz has to resist the urge to sniff it when she finally makes it through to the living room, feeling more than a little guilty for hogging the shower. But as ever, Max doesn’t seem to mind; in fact she’s already on the couch, wet hair tousled around her face, dressed in a fresh t-shirt and some jogging bottoms. She clearly doesn’t feel the cold as much.

“You warmed up?” Max asks. When Yaz nods, she pats the sofa to her right. “Come and join me if you like. I’ve popped your clothes on the rack but they’ll take a little while to dry.”

“Shame,” Yaz jokes as she takes a seat. “What are you going to keep me entertained with in the meantime?”

“Fancy a film?”

“Netflix and chill? Or one of your nerdy DVDs?”

“For that, I’m going to make you watch Star Wars,” Max smirks, and then she moves to dig out some DVDs. She’s barefoot, and Yaz notices that her feet don’t have tattoos. They’re the only part of her limbs that don’t have ink. 

“Which one?” Yaz asks. She knows there are several films because she’s had to sit through a couple of them with her dad. It isn’t really her thing, but Max is clearly a fan and Yaz doesn’t mind watching with her. Which is odd, really, because she’d complained about watching them before. Seeing Max get excited about it just hits different. 

“Let’s see how long you last,” Max grins, holding up a pile of DVD boxes. The thought that their evening isn’t anywhere near over makes Yaz feel warm and fuzzy inside.

“Challenge accepted.”

“Get comfy, babe. You’re in for the long haul.”

Yaz vaguely recognises the film Max has put on but even though she valiantly tries to pay attention, she finds it even harder to do so when Max casually drapes an arm over her shoulders. They’re pressed together closely as it is but that extra contact makes Yaz sigh contentedly and she relaxes into Max’s side. She realises that Max probably sat where she did so that they could sit like this; her tattooed leg is free from all contact and Yaz happily ignores it for the time being.

A battle takes place on the screen, but she finds Max’s hand far more interesting to look at. It’s sitting in her lap and Yaz takes hold of it, openly admiring the tattoos that cover the back of it. It’s far more fascinating than whatever CGI is happening on screen. 

“You have amazing hands,” she says, tangling their fingers together. Max shifts a little, and Yaz can tell she’s trying to control her breathing because she’s doing the exact same thing. They’re both trying to behave but being so close to one another means that Yaz can sense the tension. It’s only a matter of time before one of them crumbles; it’s hard to be that close to Max and not be touched by her in the way she wants her to. 

“I sensed you seem to like them.”

“They do some amazing things.”

Yaz brings her hand up to her mouth and kisses the back of it. 

“Yaz…” Max’s voice is low.

“Yes?” Yaz plays innocent but she kisses her hand again nonetheless.

“I have a confession to make.”

Yaz feels her stomach clench. She can’t tell if Max is joking or being serious, and she loosens her hold of her hand in panic.

“What?”

“I wasn’t in the Scouts.”

Her heart catches up with her, then, and thumps to life in her chest when she realises what Max is getting at.

“Good.” 

Yaz takes Max’s hand and brazenly places it on her breast. She swears when Max takes that as encouragement to blatantly grope her, just as Yaz has hoped she would.

“Shit,” she breathes, because whenever Max touches her it’s like she’s sparked fire under her skin. Nowhere is that more obvious than the space between her legs, which is positively throbbing. “You need to touch me, Max.”

“I was trying to be a gentleman,” Max admits. “It’s just...really, really hard right now. You drive me insane.”

“Don’t be a gentleman,” Yaz pleads, and then one thing leads to another and Max is finally, finally kissing her like she’s longed for. No more polite kisses on the cheek or gentle touches; the hand on her breast squeezes again, roughly, and Yaz moans into it. Her nipples feel tight, almost unbearably so, but that doesn’t compare to the ache between her legs. 

“Please, Max,” she pleads again. “Please touch me.”

Max eyes her still healing leg, which is - thankfully - sufficiently out of harm’s way.

“You think you can stay still?”

Yaz nods eagerly. She’ll do whatever Max asks, so long as she touches her. She traps her lip between her teeth as Max’s hand moves from her breast downwards, across her stomach, and over the fabric between her legs. 

The moment she presses over her clit, Yaz stiffens. 

“Steady,” Max cautions, and although Yaz’s eyes have slammed shut she can hear the smirk. 

“Easy for you to say,” Yaz pants, head falling back onto Max’s arm, which is still resting across her shoulders. 

“Trust me, this is torture for me, too.”

Yaz somehow doubts that; Max doesn’t have someone rubbing softly over her, tracing her through the material of her underwear. Max captures her lips just in time to swallow her moan and Yaz can already tell she’s ruined her boxers. 

“You feel so fucking good,” Max sighs. “Spread your legs for me, babe.”

Yaz does it without thinking and bites her lip, hard, when Max’s fingers finally slide inside the flap at the front of her boxers. The moment she makes direct contact, Yaz knows she’s a goner. She’s been on edge for days. 

“This all for me?” Max murmurs, fingertips sliding through her. 

“I think I’ve been wet all week,” Yaz responds, shocked by her own admission. Being with Max reveals a rebellious streak and she likes to see how she reacts; sure enough, her pupils seem to darken and her breathing increases and Yaz is chuffed to have provoked such a response. 

But that doesn’t last long at all because then she looks down to see Max’s hand tenting the fabric and she actually whimpers. The tattoos on Max’s forearm tense and move with the skin as she slowly moves her hand.

“You’re left-handed?” Yaz asks, overwhelmed. She’s ridiculously turned on and has been for days, and now this is finally happening she is struggling to keep up. But she’s certain Max used her right hand to tattoo her.

“Ambidextrous.”

Yaz has never been turned on by that word before but when Max says it - and proves just how ambidextrous she is - Yaz arches into her without restraint. 

“Feel good?”

“Yeah. Fuck.”

“Been thinking about doing this all night. Do you know how hard it was to keep my hands to myself?”

“Same problem,” Yaz breathes, but it’s a struggle to hold a conversation when Max is stimulating her clit like that. Then Max laughs in that way she has and Yaz abandons all hope of making sense.

“You did well to last this long.”

Yaz is certain she starts moving faster then, as if she’s challenging her to last longer. But Yaz is weak and she can only do so much when Max is stroking her like that and she tenses again as a wave of pleasure passes through her. 

“Not gonna last much longer,” she admits, and she wishes she could, she really does, but Max is just too good with her hands. She knows she is, too. And this is just her hand. Yaz wonders how she’ll fare when there’s nothing holding them back. 

Her hips roll as they encourage Max to keep moving, because words are failing her completely now and she needs her to keep going. Her mouth falls open as she tries to breathe and Max takes that as an invitation to kiss her again, and Yaz cries out into her mouth. It’s a messy kiss, almost as messy as what’s going on between her legs, but Yaz thrives on it.

She comes with Max’s tongue in her mouth and she does her best to stop clamping her thighs around her hand, but Max nudges them apart with her knee to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself.

“That’s it, gorgeous,” Max murmurs, her hand slowing as Yaz rides it out. 

“Max,” Yaz moans her name and she hopes the conveys what she means by tone alone. “God.” 

“You ok? Want me to get you anything?”

Yaz shakes her head, still catching her breath.

“I just want you.”

Max shoots her a rueful grin. “Next time, babe. Just relax for now.”

And although Yaz wonders why, she isn’t going to argue when Max’s arm is still around her and it’s so easy to relax in her arms once more, especially now she’s coasting on endorphins. She isn’t going to push. They weren’t even meant to do what they’ve just done and her leg is throbbing a little because of it, but she’d do it again in a heartbeat. 

The film is still playing and Yaz floats on a post-orgasmic high, feeling Max settle next to her and wrapping herself up in her scent. It’s cosy, and the sound of rain falling outside combined with the gentle sound of Max breathing has a soporific effect. She doesn’t remember falling asleep. She’s surrounded by Max, warm and safe and dry, and the sound of the film fades away as she slips into dreams.

When she wakes, she’s leaning on Max’s shoulder and she has a hell of a crick in her neck. It takes her a moment or two to realise what’s happened. Her first clue is the Star Wars music playing on the TV, which has been probably playing on loop for several hours because she can hear it in her head now that she thinks about it. It was the soundtrack to her dreams.

Next, she hears the sound of rain. It’s not as heavy as last night at least, but it’s still going. Yaz wonders if her dress is dry. It still seems early, judging by the light outside. Yaz is glad that she has a late shift.

Last but by no means least, Max infiltrates her senses. Almost all at once, Yaz hears her breathing and then she feels the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathes under Yaz’s cheek.

Yaz looks up. Max’s eyes are closed and her face is relaxed and even from this odd angle she is still the most attractive person Yaz has ever seen. She sees her pulse jumping under the ink on her neck and remembers kissing it, once. Yaz contemplates the word she’d chosen to describe Max last night and surmises that handsome was the perfect choice. It certainly suits her.

The arm that’s still around Yaz’s shoulders and is no doubt dead from lack of circulation. It’s that which prompts Yaz to move, concerned that Max is going to wake up with intolerable pins and needles. It doesn’t take long for Max to stir once Yaz pulls away.

“Huh?” she mumbles, blinking blearily. Yaz watches as she wakes up in a manner not dissimilar from her own, and bites back a smile at her obvious confusion. She’s never seen Max out of sorts. It’s kind of sweet.

“Morning, Max. Looks like even Yoda couldn’t keep you awake.” Yaz tries and fails to recall how many films they’d made it through because once Max had made her come and then cuddled her, she was oblivious to everything else.

“I watched two more after you passed out,” Max yawns, and stretches with a grimace. 

“What?” Yaz is a little shocked that she managed to sleep through so much while Max was still awake.

“Yeah. You looked so peaceful that I didn’t want to move you.” Max smoothes some hair from Yaz’s face and the gesture is so familiar that Yaz has to remind herself that they’ve known each other for less than a week. It feels like a lot longer. Either way, she enjoys how tactile Max is, and how easily she shows affection.

“I don’t normally fall asleep around people so easily,” Max admits. Yaz doesn’t know what to say to that. It’s a good sign that she did eventually sleep. Now that she thinks about it, Max was already awake when she woke up after their first night together.

“Want a coffee?” Max yawns again, and although Yaz doesn’t really want her to move, the thought of caffeine is very appealing. She has a long day ahead.

“That would be great.”

She moves to get up but Max holds out her hand to stop her. 

“Nope, sit. Let me.”

The kitchen is adjoined to the living room so at least Yaz can still watch her and as the kettle boils, Max stretches again. Her t-shirt rides up over her stomach and Yaz catches a glimpse of the tattoos there. She hopes she will get to see them again before too long. She remembers that Max had mentioned a next time, and she’s already looking forward to it. 

“I had a lot of fun,” she speaks up over the noise of the kettle boiling. She wants to raise the topic of their next meeting before she has to leave. 

“Yeah?” Max retrieves some mugs from a cupboard above the sink. 

“Yeah. That was a pretty good first date.”

Max is quiet as she makes their coffee, and Yaz is happy simply to watch her. 

“Any room for improvement?” Max returns with two mugs of coffee and Yaz accepts one gratefully. She hides her smile in the rim of it when Max resumes her position beside her and their legs press together. 

Even though the film wasn’t one she’d normally choose, even though she got soaked by the rain, and even though she’d woken up with a horrid crick in her neck, Yaz realises there isn’t any room for improvement. She had a great time. The only thing she missed was being able to touch Max, but she isn’t going to say that. She doesn’t want to add pressure. Besides, it’s not really the kind of question to answer honestly. As much as Max may want to do her best, Yaz just wants her to be herself.

“Only this. I can’t wait for it to be healed,” she points at her leg. 

“I’ll make it worth the wait. I promise.” 

“Oh, I somehow have no doubt about that,” Yaz smiles. “Your track record speaks for itself.”

“You keeping notes?” Max laughs.

“I don’t need to. Two for two.”

“I meant what I said, you know. You ain’t seen nothing yet,” Max murmurs, and her face is so close that Yaz struggles to function. Despite the early hour, she can already feel herself responding to the words and she groans as she recognises the signs.

“Just when I thought I’d got you out of my system,” she grumbles jokily, but really she’s a little alarmed at how easily Max can derail her.

Max deposits her mug on the table and does the same for Yaz, and then she cups her face in her hands and kisses her. She tastes like coffee and her lips are soft as they move against Yaz’s own. 

And she’s far more stimulating, exhilarating, and addictive than caffeine. Max is a drug that Yaz cannot get enough of.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn’t the last we’ll see of Max; I have a follow-up fic planned, which I’ll eventually stick up on maglexfic.wordpress.com 🙂

Yaz has never known time to move so slowly. As the days pass, the ink on her leg starts to look worse, rather than better, but it’s all part of the process. She has to be patient even though she feels like she can’t sit still. 

Yaz knows that when the skin is fully healed, it will be smooth; although the lines and colours will be less vivid, they will also be more permanent. But the combination of the warm weather, the persistent itch of a healing tattoo, and the intolerable wait until she and Max can properly resolve the tension between them means that she starts to climb the walls. It doesn’t help that Sonya pulls a face whenever she sees the state of her leg. 

“Is that still peeling?”

“Yes, Sonya.”

“Is it meant to be doing that?”

Yaz rolls her eyes. “Yes, Sonya.” Her tone is curt but she’s more than a little fed up with the situation. She knows it isn’t her sister’s fault, but she just so happens to be there and she’s good at pushing her buttons in the worst way. 

“Alright, alright,” Sonya tries to placate her. “No need to get so snippy.”

“You ask me the same thing every time you see it,” Yaz sighs. “I’m just...ready for it to be done.”

“Why’s that then?” Sonya asks as she boils the kettle. As a peace offering she pulls out two mugs and makes Yaz a cup of tea, too. 

“So I can walk around the house in shorts in a heatwave without you pulling a face.”

“Talking of….”

Yaz receives her mug of tea gratefully. She has a feeling she knows what Sonya’s about to say and she needs a second to think of her response. Ever since she’s met Max, something of the old Yaz is back; living with her sister has been a helpful stopgap measure but if she’s going to start seeing someone, the last thing she wants is her sister sticking her nose in. She needs her own place. It’s exciting to contemplate but although she’s keen to pursue things with Max, she also doesn’t want to rush.

“You started thinking about what you want to do about all those boxes in your room? Not that I don’t like having you here.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to go anywhere if you don’t want to.”

“I know,” Yaz smiles, this time, because her sister is clearly over-worrying. It’s kind of sweet. She should probably put Sonya out of her misery and admit that she is finally considering moving out. The question is, how can she style it out without admitting what’s prompted the change of tune? For months she’s been camped out in Sonya’s spare room without showing any sign of being willing or able to leave, mired in a post-breakup slump. 

But within the space of three weeks she’s actually started to have something of a life again and that’s entirely down to meeting Max. Yaz doesn’t want to admit that to Sonya just yet, though. It feels like it would tempt fate when they’ve only met up a handful of times, even if those handful of times have been incredible.

“I think I probably should start to think about moving out,” she finally says. Regardless of what happens with Max, she really should get her own space again. “You did me a huge favour, letting me crash here. Even if you don’t let me choose what we watch on movie nights.”

“Your taste is awful, Yaz.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that. But I’ve realised I really should get back out there. Get my own place again,” she adds, tone carefully neutral lest she give the game away. 

Sonya regards her without speaking for a moment. Yaz can practically see the cogs turning and she wonders if the penny will drop. It does.

“If you’re ‘getting back out there’, does that mean you’re still seeing Max?”

“What makes you think that?” Yaz can already hear how defensive she’s becoming but she can’t help it. She doesn’t want Sonya to worry about what she’s up to, either. At the very least, a bit of harmless fun is doing her good. She thinks it’s harmless, anyway. She tries not to think about how easily Max has worked her way into every waking thought. 

“You didn’t come home one night, a couple of weekends ago.”

“Oh?” Deep down, Yaz is surprised that Sonya even noticed. She’d snuck home early the next morning after crashing on Max’s couch and had been certain Sonya was none the wiser. 

“And I know you weren’t working the night before because you went to work a few hours later, so...there’s only really one explanation,” Sonya grins, delighted when she realises she’s caught Yaz out. 

Yaz is stumped. It’s like being busted by her parents when she used to sneak out as a teenager. She has to give her sister credit where it’s due - she’s not as unobservant as she sometimes seems. Then again, she’s always taken a particular interest in Yaz’s love life. Yaz debates how much to tell her.

“I…”

“Yes?”

“...plead the fifth.” Yaz can’t help but grin at the disappointment on Sonya’s face. Her thing with Max - whatever it is - feels far too grown up to discuss with her younger sister and besides, it’s fun to wind her up.

“Yaz! You’re no fun. Go on. You saw her again, didn’t you? After she ‘checked out’ your tattoo.”

Indeed she had. Max had tried and failed to keep her hands to herself on their first date but she’d been on her best behaviour on their second. Well, apart from when she’d led Yaz down a quiet side street and pressed her up against a wall at the end of the evening. She’d been midway through groping her when she suddenly stopped. A group of drunk teenagers stumbled past the end of the street moments later, oblivious to what they’d just interrupted as they laughed and joked in high spirits.

“Shit, sorry. Sorry.” Max pulled away and exhaled heavily, hair puffing out of her face. “I’m sorry, Yaz. You deserve better than that.”

“No,” Yaz replied. She was still trying to catch her breath. 

Max laughed as she ran her hand through her hair, ruffling it further. Yaz wished she could do it for her. “You don’t deserve better than me feeling you up in public?”

“You know what I mean,” Yaz nudged her. “There was nothing wrong with that. I like when you touch me.”

“It’s hard not to,” Max grinned. “Even so, I promised myself I’d behave this time.”

She reached for Yaz’s hands and held out her arms, admiring her. It was almost old fashioned, like the way she’d twirled her on their first date. What she said next was anything but.

“God, the things I want to do to you…”

Yaz was sure her heart was in her throat. She could feel her pulse in her neck. 

“Tell me?”

“I think I’d rather surprise you, actually.”

Yaz groaned. “Don’t leave a girl hanging.” 

“You know the phrase ‘actions speak louder than words’?”

Yaz shivered. Max’s words were effective enough as it was.

“You’re that confident, huh?”

“When it comes to you, I have a pretty good idea about what I’m doing.” 

It was true; from day one she’d read Yaz like a book. They both knew it. Still, Yaz knew she’d have to try and give as good as she got. Max thrived on the thrill of the chase. So Yaz scoffed lightly and folded her arms, which had the added bonus of hiding how hard her nipples were. 

True to form, Max wasn’t put off in the slightest. If anything, she seemed to sense a challenge and, as usual, she rose to the occasion.

Yaz remembers vividly what happened next.

Max had leaned in, her nose brushing the shell of Yaz’s ear, the only point of contact. She lingered long enough for Yaz to inhale and breathe in the scent of her skin, which was a calculated move, Yaz knew; then she’d spoken so that nobody but Yaz could hear what she had to say. 

“You’re my good girl, Yaz. And you’re going to take me so deep that you won’t be able to tell where I end and you begin.” 

Yaz didn’t know what to say to that - her eyes widened at the implications of what Max was saying, because there was only one thing she could really be talking about - and then (she remembers this vividly), Max had winked at her. 

“Hopefully that’ll give you enough to work with.”

The moment Yaz was home and alone she’d shoved her hand between her legs, not even bothering to get undressed first. She came to the mental image of Max watching her in her bedroom mirror as she fucked her from behind. 

When she checked her phone after the cold shower that followed, Max had texted. 

_ did that help? _

Yaz had debated lying but there was no point. Max well and truly had her number. 

_ Not quite like the real thing.  _

_ nothing is, babe _

“Yaz?”

Yaz returns to the present. Her sister is giving her a strange look and Yaz freezes. How long has she zoned out for?

“You alright?”

“Fine. Fine.”

“Tell that to your face,” Sonya giggles. “You look a bit hot under the collar.”

Yaz is about to shut her down but then she contemplates her options again. In retrospect, she could actually do with her sister’s advice on this because she knows she’s at risk of getting swept up completely. Coming off the tail end of a serious long-term relationship, she wants to make sure she’s not jumping straight back in at the deep end because she’d been hurt before and whatever she’s doing with Max has the potential to hurt just as badly.

“So...Max?” Sonya prompts, when she senses Yaz hesitating. “You guys had a thing, right? The day you got your tattoo. Which, well done, by the way. Proud of you for putting yourself out there.”

Yaz flushes at the reminder.

“And then…”

“We went on a couple of dates,” she admits. It seems to legitimise the fact that she went home with Max on the first day she met her; there must have been a spark between them if they’ve met up since. 

“I knew it!” Sonya claps her hands together. Yaz isn’t sure if she’s applauding herself for guessing correctly or the fact that Yaz has started to consider dating again. “That’s where you were when you didn’t come home the other week?”

“...yeah,” Yaz admits. “It wasn’t even the plan, I swear. We got caught out in the rain and then she said I should dry my clothes at hers.”

“Smooth,” Sonya laughs, and then she cuts off Yaz’s rebuttal before she can get a word in edgeways. “Hey, this is a good thing. It’s been kind of hard watching you turn into a hermit.”

“Hey! Not my fault I got dumped,” Yaz grumbles. But her mardy mood already feels like a lifetime ago. It’s amazing how differently time passes when it’s spent well.

“No, but I’m glad you’ve remembered there are other people out there. Plus she’s hot, Yaz. Even I can see that.”

Yaz certainly isn’t going to deny it. Max is the best looking person she’s ever encountered and she cherishes the opportunity to dwell on that point.

“She really is.” Yaz swoons a little as she thinks about her. “You should have seen what she wore on our first date.” 

This is new. She doesn’t normally talk to her sister so openly about these things but it’s actually fun to tell Sonya about it and show Max off a little, even if Max isn’t truly hers to show off. She pulls out her phone and opens her photos before she remembers what she’d told Max.

“Show me?” Sonya holds out her hand, clearly sensing what Yaz had been about to do.

“I told her I wouldn’t show anyone.”

“I’m not going to tell a soul. Go on.”

Yaz recalls that she’d technically promised not to post it, that the picture is of someone Sonya has already met, and that Sonya actually can’t do anything with a photo on Yaz’s phone. She wonders why she’s so protective over Max. Showing her sister the photo should be alright.

Still, Yaz holds out her phone rather than letting her sister take it in hand. She can’t help but be pleased when she sees her sister’s reaction. 

“Holy...yeah. Wow, Yaz. You did good. Remind me to give you some selfie tips, though. Not that either of you really need them.”

“Shut up,” Yaz laughs, but she’s chuffed to bits by her sister’s response. She can’t help but feel she’s punching above her weight when it comes to Max. “It seems too good to be true, you know?”

“Nuh uh. Yaz you’re smoking. She’s in your league, trust me.”

Yaz isn’t only referring to how handsome she thinks Max is. Whenever they talk, the conversation is charged with something Yaz can’t quite describe: it’s either sexual tension or ridiculous chemistry, or both.

“She’s like nobody I’ve ever met. It’s kind of intense.”

“How do you mean?”

“You don’t want to know,” Yaz shakes her head. She’s not willing to discuss that side of things because there’s a line and she wouldn’t even know how to put it into words.

“Ok, ok. Point taken. What do you want to do?”

“Keep seeing her,” Yaz shrugs.

“And does she want to keep seeing you?”

Yaz has given a lot of thought to this. They’re obviously building up to another night together but what will happen after that? She has no idea. She hopes that the spark will still be there and that they can just continue what they’re doing. After all, Max was the one to suggest dinner but when she thinks about it, Yaz had been the one to actually call it a date, not Max. She’s going around in circles.

“I think so. I hope so.” She pulls a face. What if she’s made this into something more serious than Max wants? They probably should have talked about that before now.

“I think you need to ask her what’s going on. It doesn’t sound like just a fling to me, but I know you. I don’t know her.”

“Yeah,” Yaz sighs. She knows her sister is right but part of the fun of it all is that they just go with the flow rather than trying to label things. On the other hand, her conversation with Sonya has just confirmed that she’s getting into Max in a serious way. She needs to make sure she can protect herself. Is it selfish to put that discussion with Max off until they finally resolve the tension? Possibly, but Yaz doesn’t want to sabotage herself at such a crucial juncture. One more night won’t hurt.

“Whatever you do, promise me one thing?”

“What?”

“Please don’t bring her back here. I need my beauty sleep, even if you two don’t.”

* * *

The moment of reckoning arrives only a couple of days after her conversation with Sonya. Yaz texts Max straight away to share the good news. 

_ Guess whose tattoo is finally healed? _

_ best news i’ve heard in a while. are you free tonight? _

Yaz knows she’d have bailed on any existing social commitments if she’d had any but as it stands, she is indeed free.

_ I’m all yours. _

_ i take it back. that’s the best news i’ve heard in a while. _

Yaz flushes.

_ come over around six? i should be free by then _

Yaz is actually glad she has a shift that day because she’d waste it otherwise; even so, when she finishes at three, she finds herself at a loose end. Three hours is too long to start getting ready, but perhaps she can pull out some clothes and decide what to wear. It’s probably a bit pointless, really, because she imagines she’ll be removing them almost immediately.

She’s contemplating her options when Max seems to read her mind and texts her.

_ what are you wearing? _

Yaz is confused. Is Max asking about what she’s wearing now or what she’s wearing later? Another text comes through.

_ think you could find that dress? the white one?  _

Yaz is still confused but she does as Max suggests and pulls it out of her wardrobe.

_ Sure. _

_ remind me how good you look in it? _

Yaz debates whether she should keep Max waiting - she needs to get changed anyway so she could always send one later, when she’s looking her best - but she also doesn’t want to run the risk of missing out, so she quickly gets changed and sends Max a photo. It strikes her then that she might be whipped but she finds she doesn’t care when she reads Max’s response.

_ that’s my girl. you’ll thank me later  _

Max says nothing else and Yaz is still confused but now she’s more than a little turned on. Max knows exactly what to say and Yaz can imagine the tone of voice she would say those words in. But Yaz is hardly powerless in this situation and she’s struck by sudden inspiration. 

She puts more effort into posing properly this time, angling her face and positioning her torso so that she highlights her figure more fully, as Sonya had suggested. The pose feels awkward but her sister’s selfie advice actually pays off because when Yaz sees the end result, she’s pleased to see some of her new-found confidence shining through. Max is responsible for that.

_ You can thank me now x _

Yaz puts her phone to one side as she lets Max stew over the image. She focuses on getting ready - shaving her legs, washing her hair, moisturising every inch of skin - and that takes the best part of ninety minutes, which helps pass the time but also horrifies Yaz, who hasn’t spent that long on herself in many months. At least getting dressed won’t take long, since Max has already suggested what she should wear. 

She imagines what it will feel like when Max finally runs her hands up her legs and under the material of her dress. She skims her palm over her new tattoo and imagines Max doing the same. 

Max. The reminder prompts her to check her phone for the time - she’s lost nearly half an hour to daydreams - and she sees that Max has sent a photograph of her own, without any explanation. 

It’s shot from the waist down, which is odd at first glance, but then Yaz realises what she’s meant to be looking at. Max’s jeans aren’t lying flat against her. There’s a subtle bulge below her waistband. There’s clearly something in her trousers and Yaz really can’t wait to find out what.

That photo also suggests Max must finally be home and the time is close enough. Yaz shoves her phone in her bag and spritzes some perfume over herself, taking her time as she works her way into a pair of heels that she’s not worn in several months. They add a couple of inches to her height and she instantly feels more confident, even if she has to walk more slowly than usual. She’s probably completely overdressed but she finds that her clothing gives an extra boost to how good she feels about herself, and she knows part of that is because she’s excited to see Max’s reaction.

She manages to hail a cab and distractedly makes conversation with the driver as he ferries her across town. It’s not far, but she’s not walking in heels. Max buzzes her in and her front door is ajar when Yaz finally arrives, buzzing with nervous excitement. 

She knocks, just to be polite, and opens the door to see Max in the kitchen, drinking some water; when she sees Yaz, her posture straightens. She’s in the same jeans as the photograph and, unlike Yaz, she’s dressed simply in one of her tank tops. But her clothes are the perfect fit for her and Yaz much prefers to see her dressed that way, because she looks so effortlessly cool and comfortable that Yaz can’t help but find her attractive.

“Hey,” she says, suddenly nervous. She shuts the door behind her with a click, but Max doesn’t move - she’s too busy staring at Yaz’s legs.

“Hey, Yaz.” Max’s voice is soft, and her expression...well, Yaz has never seen her look quite so distracted. She feels a little self-conscious at the quiet attention and smooths her hands over her thighs, which snaps Max out of it. She walks over - swaggers, really - and Yaz has to keep her eyes on Max’s face or she’ll stare at the slight bulge in her jeans.

“You’re so fucking pretty. You know that?”

Yaz doesn’t reply because Max kisses her, lips soft against her own as she cups her chin in her hand. It’s much softer than what Yaz was expecting and she’s pleasantly surprised. She thought they’d be ripping each other’s clothes off the moment she got through the door. 

She kisses Max back, desperate to touch her, but she senses that this isn’t quite going to go how she imagined. For starters, Max is clearly not in a hurry; there’s the lightest of touches against the bare skin of her back as Max holds her in place, and it’s only when Max steps into her space fully that their hips meet and Yaz feels the pressure of something between them. She shifts, keen to feel Max between her legs.

“Told you you’d thank me later,” Max smiles as she tucks Yaz’s hair behind her ear. She’s worn it down precisely because she likes how it feels when Max touches it.

“How much later are we talking?” Yaz murmurs, breath catching in her throat as Max traces her jaw with her thumb. This is not remotely what she was expecting. Max has barely been able to keep her hands to herself and now that she can do what she likes, she’s touching Yaz like she’s made of glass. 

Yaz, on the other hand, is already breathless with anticipation. She wants Max to touch her, to kiss her, to fuck her, and Max is barely doing any of these things. She’s so close but not close enough and Yaz is struggling to remain cool. She gets the feeling that this is all part of Max’s plan to drive her insane.

“Someone’s impatient,” Max drawls, cool as anything. Yaz, on the other hand, is already burning up.

“Yeah, well, someone’s been waiting for this for weeks,” she replies, running her hands over Max’s shoulders.

“You do flatter me.”

Yaz drops her hands and boldly reaches for her belt to try and move things along, but Max easily nudges her hands away and tangles their fingers together.

“Nope. I want to take my time with you.”

Yaz feels a thrill at those words because as much as she wants to get down to business, she appreciates that Max is all about making her feel good. She sighs happily when Max’s mouth moves to her neck and starts kissing the skin there. Max drops her hands and relocates one to her arse while the other gently strokes her thigh, the one that has been out of bounds since the beginning. Hands free, Yaz reaches out to hold her partly to keep upright and also because she wants to feel her body against her.

“You smell amazing,” Max sighs into her skin, nosing at the ticklish spot under Yaz’s ear. “I can’t wait to taste you.”

It’s not particularly fair, Yaz thinks, that Max can say these things and expect her to remain upright. When Max nudges her legs apart and the bulge between her thighs presses against Yaz just so, Yaz has to tighten her grip as her knees weaken. One of Max’s hands lifts the material of her dress up just enough so it’s out of the way and she rolls her hips just enough to subtly grind against Yaz once, twice. 

“You like that?” Max murmurs beneath her ear, lips still working over the skin there. Yaz shudders when she feels her breath tickle her neck. She’s sensitive and painfully aroused because Max is pressing into her in so many different places all at once.

“Yeah,” she breathes. “But I’m probably going to ruin your trousers.”

Max moves an exploratory hand between them and Yaz bites her lip when she feels fingers touching her. She opted not to bother with any underwear.

Max’s fingers stop moving when she realises what she’s feeling and then she chuckles as she starts to stroke her slowly.

“Bold choice.”

“Didn’t want anything getting in the way,” Yaz replies. She’d imagined that Max had requested she wear a dress for easy access, and underwear was just an unnecessary barrier. It was her own way of making her mark; if Max was going to suggest what she should wear, Yaz wanted to surprise her in other ways. 

Yaz tries to hold Max’s gaze but when she passes over her clit, she physically can’t keep her eyes open. When her knees actually buckle on the second pass, Max guides her back to the kitchen counter, the closest hard surface. They may be taking their time but the bed is apparently too far, not that Yaz is complaining. As long as Max is touching her in some capacity, she’s content.

This time, when Max touches her, she is grateful for the extra support of the granite behind her thighs. She swears as Max teases her, repeatedly sliding between her folds and lingering at her entrance before moving away. 

“Please,” she gasps, drunk on lust. She cannot think straight. “Inside.”

The directive seems to amp things up a little because Max finally slides a finger inside and resumes her worship of Yaz’s neck, this time with added teeth. She grazes her jugular as she pulls out, kisses it as she curls back inside, and Yaz can only loop her arms around her neck and hold on as Max warms her up, arm moving subtly under her dress.

She groans at the stretch as Max adds another finger. But before long, she wants more. She loves Max’s hands but she wants to feel more of her. She wants to feel her skin pressed against her. The clothing between them is torture. 

“God you turn me on,” Max breathes, pupils blown. 

“Tell me about it. I need you, Max. Like, now.” 

Her hand moves to the bulge in Max’s jeans again to emphasise her point. 

This time, Max doesn’t bat her hand away. 

“Think we should move this to the bedroom?” she suggests, and Yaz nods eagerly. Max removes her hand from under Yaz’s dress and dries it on her jeans before she reaches for Yaz’s hips and tells her to hold on. 

“Hold on to wh-”

Yaz shrieks slightly in surprise as Max bodily lifts her from the counter. She wraps her legs around her waist and her arms around her neck and laughs as Max easily marches her through to the bedroom, depositing her on the bed with a flourish. She remains standing at the foot of the bed and as Yaz settles, she reaches behind her head and tugs her top over it. While Yaz might not have bothered wearing any pants, Max has opted to go without a bra and Yaz feels her mouth go dry at all of the inked skin suddenly on show. 

“Alright?”

“Very. I just forgot.”

“Forgot what?” Max casually ruffles her hair as Yaz admires her and Yaz wonders if she knows what effect that has on her. She likes dishevelled Max. A lot. She likes Max a lot, generally, and she can’t quite believe she has her like this.

“What you’re like,” Yaz supplies, and she moves onto her knees so she can shuffle down to the end of the bed and finally touch Max’s skin. Their faces are level but she can’t help but look down as she places her palms on Max’s stomach. She likes the way the ink peeks out from between her fingers, like she’s only seeing pieces of the puzzle rather than the whole thing.

Then her hands move south to the belt buckle. 

“Can I see?”

Max nods.

It’s so quiet that Yaz could hear a pin drop in the silence that follows. Max’s breathing is slow and steady but it hitches as she slides the belt through the buckle with a slow rasp.

Yaz pops the button and the sound of the zipper is almost obscenely loud. Her eyes are fixed on Max’s as she hooks her fingertips into the waistband of her jeans and tugs them down a little, leaving her in her boxers. Max snares her lower lip between her teeth as she reaches down and pulls out the toy.

Yaz can’t help but stare when she finally sees it. It looks more realistic than what they used before and it’s also bigger. She realises she should probably say something because Max is oddly quiet and it strikes her that she seems a bit nervous. Yaz desperately wants to put her at ease, not least because she’s delighted with what Max has been packing. 

“Well this is a nice surprise,” she smiles, genuinely pleased by this turn of events. “You’ve been holding out on me.” 

Max rubs the back of her neck and Yaz kisses her to try and ease the tension in her body. That helps. 

“Can I?” Her hand hovers, waiting for approval, and the moment Max nods Yaz wraps her hand around it. It’s firm and slightly warm from where it’s been pressed against Max’s body. 

Yaz can already picture what Max is going to do to her with it. Her grip tightens as she thinks about how that’s going to feel and without even realising she starts to stroke it. Max makes a pleased sound when she sees what Yaz is up to. It’s clearly doing something for her, even if she can’t really feel it; the visual alone seems to work because she sucks in a breath as Yaz starts to slowly jerk her off.

But her hand is a little dry for the task and she has a much better idea. She doesn’t really know what she’s doing - she’s only done it once before and not for long - but she’s seen plenty of videos of it online. It can’t be that hard, can it? And she wants to do well for Max. 

Max sounds disappointed when she stops but then Yaz braces herself on her hands and dips her head.

“You don’t have to,” Max says, and Yaz looks up to see her throat bob as she swallows. It cements her resolve when she can see how Max is affected by the idea.

“I want to. I want you in my mouth.”

Max always takes such good care of her and Yaz badly wants to do something in return. She’s pleased to note that her bluntness takes Max by surprise because she doesn’t protest when Yaz wraps her lips around the head and takes the first inch inside. 

Max grunts at the visual and Yaz delights in the sound. Hearing Max make that noise makes her wet and when Max’s fingers comb through her hair and hold it back from her face, Yaz feels a fresh burst of confidence. 

She starts to bob her head, taking in a little more with every few passes and listening to Max respond. Yaz never would have thought this was something she’d enjoy - it’s noisier and messier than she’d expected, for a start - but when Max starts talking she throws herself into the task with enthusiasm.

“You’re such a good girl, Yaz.” Max moans softly and Yaz can’t help but moan in response to the praise. She wants to do well for Max and she focuses on her breathing and taking as much in as she can. Max is patient and gentle, which Yaz is grateful for, and she wonders if she’ll get better with practice. She definitely wants to do this again with Max because everything about the act has turned her on.

She’s enjoying herself because Max is; when she feels the hand in her hair tightening she hollows out her cheeks and looks up at Max, committed to putting on a show as she works up to a decent rhythm. 

“Fuck. You look so good with my dick in your mouth. So good, Yaz.”

That gives Yaz a thrill, as does the realisation that Max has started thrusting her hips, small motions that challenge Yaz to take as much as she can. 

“That’s it, babe. Suck me off.”

Yaz feels a rush of warmth between her thighs as Max groans again, louder than before. 

“You want this inside you?”

Max’s free hand passes over Yaz’s cheek as Yaz nods as best she can with a dick in her mouth. 

“You’ve done such a good job,Yaz. I’m ready for you. Are you ready for me?”

Yaz is a little disappointed when Max pulls out of her mouth a few moments later. She takes the opportunity to catch her breath and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. 

“You have no idea how hot you are. How hot that was.” Max ducks her head and kisses her thoroughly once she’s caught her breath, and Yaz is delighted that she’s done a good job. “I’m going to fuck you now, babe. You deserve your reward.”

Max snags a condom out of her pocket and kicks off her jeans. Yaz is surprised - she’d thought Max used one before because they didn’t know each other. 

“Cleaner and safer for you,” Max explains when she sees her confusion.

Yaz wordlessly holds out her hand for the packet. She wants to put it on. She’s only ever done it once before, in sex ed, with a banana. Today is clearly a day for new experiences, and anything she once learned is miles apart from what she’s actually doing. It’s all a learning experience and Yaz wants to learn everything she possibly can.

Added to that, Yaz feels properly nervous for the first time since she’s walked through Max’s door. Possibly because she knows what’s coming - she’s been anticipating it for weeks - and because they’ve been getting to know one another, it feels like there is more weight to things than the first time around. This isn’t just a one off. It’s a repeat. The bar has been set high but it’s not that that’s worrying her because Yaz has a feeling this is going to be good - it’s what follows after. She seriously hopes this isn’t just a notch on Max’s bedpost, but it feels more serious, somehow. There’s been a definite shift ever since she walked through Max’s front door. It isn’t lost on her that they can now fuck face to face, not watching each other in a mirror.

As a result, her hands tremble a little as she struggles to open the wrapper. Inked fingers clasp around hers when she utters a sound of frustration.

“I can do that,” Max grins wryly. “Take your dress off for me? I don’t want to ruin it.”

Yaz relinquishes the packet and reaches for the zip at the side of her dress. She’s in a hurry to remove it because she doesn’t want to miss a second of what Max is up to, but she doesn’t undo the zip properly and she struggles to get it off. 

“Oh, for…” she stops short of swearing at the stubborn material and Max chuckles when she sees her predicament. Yaz is relieved to note she’s not done much other than retrieve some lube. 

“Yaz. C’mere.”

The way Max says her name makes her swoon, as does the way she helps Yaz out of her dress, and then her bra. It’s the first time she’s been fully naked in front of Max since that first night, but any nerves she has are soothed by the way Max takes her in with her eyes. 

“Say that again,” she requests, and then she sighs when Max runs her fingertips down her sides.

“Yaz?”

“Yeah. I like when you say my name.”

“I like your name.”

“I like yours. It suits you.” 

“I chose it.”

Yaz ponders that as she watches Max get ready. She likes watching her because it adds ceremony and she suspects Max enjoys that side of things, too, because she tugs the tip of the latex even though she doesn’t technically need to. Watching Max has the added bonus of ramping up the anticipation of what’s to come, which Yaz is now more than ready for. At least she thinks she is, anyway.

Max moves easily, as she had the first time, and Yaz finds herself wondering how many times she’s done this before. Given how skilled she is, Yaz doesn’t really care, especially when Max pays such close attention to her at that particular moment in time. She likes that she has Max’s full attention. And she certainly doesn’t mind when Max kisses her on the lips and pushes her onto her back in one smooth move, easing her legs apart in the next and settling between them like she was made to fit there. 

“You ready?”

Yaz nods, transfixed by the sight of Max’s arm as it moves fluidly, stroking lube over herself. She loves Max’s hands and when she sees her carelessly wipe the excess on her own thigh, she finds that strangely arousing - like she doesn’t care how messy it is, she’s just focused on Yaz and making her feel good. 

Max guides the tip to Yaz’s entrance and Yaz gasps as they finally make contact. She gasps again when Max slides through her folds, teasing. When she taps her clit, Yaz squirms, desperate for proper contact. Her hands are clenching the sheets so hard she’s certain she’ll rip them.

“Max, don’t,” she whines. She knows she sounds pleading but she’s at the end of her tether. 

“Don’t what?” Max grins, teeth flashing.

“Don’t tease me.” Yaz rolls her hips as she chases the pressure she desperately needs.

“You’ve been teasing me since you sent that photo.”

“You asked for it,” Yaz points out, and then she swears as Max presses against her clit again.

“I suppose you’re right. And you asked for this too, didn’t you?”

By way of explanation, Max finally works the head inside and Yaz’s eyes go wide at the stretch.

“Ok?” Max is dead serious, watching Yaz’s face for signs of discomfort.

“Yeah,” Yaz nods. “It’s good.”

“I’ll take it slow.”

She does, and Yaz is grateful because not only does she need a few moments to adjust, it also gives her the chance to feel Max up close. Her arms are braced either side of Yaz and her thighs are warm against Yaz’s legs. They slot together like puzzle pieces. Best of all, she can see Max’s face this time and, when she looks down, she can watch as she takes her inside. She’s shocked to realise that Max is almost all the way in already and when she bottoms out, Yaz can’t help herself. She wraps her arms around Max’s neck and pulls her down for another kiss. It’s not like what they’re doing is any less intimate without it. They’re kissing a lot more than they did before.

But she has to break it off when Max starts to move because she’s at serious risk of biting her tongue. The first few strokes are leisurely and Max checks in, but Yaz is already well on the way to checking out.

“Keep going,” she encourages, using her hands to grasp Max’s backside through her boxers and emphasise her point. 

“Was planning to,” Max grins, and that’s all the warning Yaz gets before she starts to pick up the pace. She’s still careful, slow and steady, but her hips move fluidly and she moves inside Yaz at a pace sufficient to drive the air from her lungs. Max is starting to breathe a little faster, too, and Yaz knows that this is no doubt hard work. Max is fit and strong and Yaz is pleased that she can see the evidence of that with her own eyes as Max braces herself above her. 

Then she glances down to see Max sliding in and out of her and she comes so abruptly at the sight that she almost gets whiplash from it. 

“One,” Max breathes, slowing again to give Yaz a moment to recover. 

“You’re counting?” Yaz doesn’t mind that she’s come within minutes because Max is apparently only just getting started.

“Yeah. I reckon we can get a few more out of you.”

She takes advantage of Yaz’s lassitude to move them around a little. Her palm wraps around Yaz’s leg - the one with the tattoo - and starts to guide it upwards so that it’s resting on her shoulder.

“Does this work for you?”

Yaz has no idea but she’s keen to find out. She nods and holds her breath as Max lifts her other leg. To Yaz’s relief she is more flexible than she realised and it feels nice to rest her legs on Max’s strong shoulders. She feels exposed but safe, and excited to experience what Max is about to make her feel. 

She isn’t disappointed; her eyes roll back in her head when Max starts to move again. She feels even bigger like this and Yaz can feel her rubbing against a spot inside that makes her cry out with every steady thrust. Max is true to her word - she’s so deep inside that Yaz is certain it shouldn’t be physically possible.

“I wish I could feel you around me. I know you’d feel so good. So warm, so tight.”

Yaz clenches at Max’s words.

“Yeah, just like that,” Max pants, and her hand clamps over the ink on Yaz’s thigh for balance. The headboard knocks against the wall but Yaz’s moans start to escalate in volume until the bed is barely audible.

“God. You make the best sounds for me when I take you like this.”

“Max. Fuck,” Yaz cries, because it’s almost too much. She’s going to come again already, she can feel it. Max’s confidence that they could get a few more out of her was well-placed. But really Max is putting in all of the work; Yaz is just taking whatever she has to give.

“Come on, babe. I want to feel you come apart,” Max encourages, and it’s the easiest request Yaz has ever had to fulfil. She blindly reaches out for something to anchor herself to. One hand slams onto the headboard behind her and the other grips Max’s arm as she wrings another climax out of her. She’s silent when she comes this time, frozen in time as her back arches even higher and her legs press down on Max’s shoulders. 

“That’s it, Yaz. Good girl,” Max murmurs, chest heaving as she catches her breath and lowers Yaz back to the mattress. Max places her palm between her breasts and it’s only then that Yaz realises that she’s breathing just as hard; her chest rises and falls against Max’s hand. 

Yaz can hear her heart thundering in her ears, and then the sound of Max pulling out. She shivers at the loss but then Max is behind her, turning her onto her side and lifting her leg, then lining them up so she can sink inside once more. Yaz moans at the stretch, the novelty of this new position, and at the realisation that Max has more stamina than she thought possible. She can’t be human. 

For her part, Yaz is amazed that she could still come again. She can already feel one starting, a slower burn because Max can’t get quite as deep like this but she’s still able to move in ways that make Yaz feel good. She can feel Max breathing against her back, but most of all she can just feel inches of Max’s bare skin pressed against her own. It’s hot, and they’re starting to sweat, but Yaz doesn’t want her to move away. She wanted to feel Max naked against her and now she’s getting exactly what she asked for.

“You’re doing so well for me, Yaz. So well.”

A tattooed hand squeezes her breast as Max ruts into her from behind. Yaz marvels at the feel of soft breasts pressed against her back, and the way they glide slightly against each other because the room is so warm. 

Max fucks her like that for quite a while, working her up slowly but steadily. Her knee is braced inside Yaz’s leg so that she can gain access and Yaz realises she has room to reach down and touch herself. 

She feels Max splitting her open and swears, hears Max laugh breathlessly in response as she moves her fingers up towards her clit.

“That’s it, babe. Make yourself feel good.”

She comes like that not long after, Max pressed up against her without an inch of space between them and her hand moving fast between her legs. It’s no less powerful than the others and it leaves her utterly spent. She has no idea how Max must be feeling.

Max pulls out and Yaz hears herself whimper. 

“Sorry, babe. You ok?”

“Yeah, just…” Yaz pants, unable to complete her sentence. She feels Max dot kisses on her cheeks, her nose, her chin.

“There’s one thing I’ve been dying to do, if you’re up for it?”

Yaz raises her arm in acknowledgment of the suggestion and it flops back to the mattress, weak. 

“I think you’re going to kill me.”

“Think you’ve got one more in you?”

Yaz can’t tell. She isn’t sure she knows anything anymore, but Max has thus far proved that she can come more than she ever thought possible. 

“I think so.” She sighs happily when she sees Max slide down the bed and ease her thigh over her shoulder again. She knows what Max is about to do.

“Let me know if it gets too much.”

She sees a flash of lust in Max’s eyes and then her mouth envelopes her. Max’s tongue is soft but no less capable of eliciting pleasure and the contrast with what came before is enough to stir something in her lower belly. Yaz didn’t think it would be physically possible to feel that so soon but Max just seems to know what Yaz’s body is capable of, even better than Yaz knows herself.

Max’s eyes open and although she says nothing, Yaz can almost see from her expression what she wants to say. She looks like she’s enjoying herself thoroughly and that in itself is ridiculously attractive. Yaz wraps her thighs around her head and embraces what Max is giving her.

She taps out after the fourth orgasm, utterly exhausted. The room is warm and Yaz is so hot and worked up that she’s certain she’s sweated all over the sheets.

“Fuck,” she groans, and Max collapses next to her with a laugh. 

“Knew you had it in you.”

“Well I did not know I had that in me,  _ or _ that you had that in you,” Yaz replies, still shivering slightly from the aftershocks. “I should have known better.”

“I think you bring out the best in me,” Max shrugs, and Yaz tries not to read too much into that. It’s hard not to, though, given what they’ve just done. She notes that Max is flushed and she’s sweating, too. “Might crack open a window before we melt.”

Max pads across the room, shedding her boxers en route, and opens a window to let in the night air. The breeze reaches Yaz seconds later and she shivers again, this time from the feel of fresh air against her damp skin.

“Come on.” Max holds out her hand. “Shower with me?”

Yaz gets to her feet with a slight wobble, grateful when Max takes her hand and guides her into the shower. She leans against the wall as the water reaches a pleasant temperature.

Max guides Yaz’s hands to her waist for balance before she starts to help her clean up. It’s not sexual in any sense and Yaz can’t help but sigh in pleasure at the simple pleasure of cool, clean water against her flushed skin. 

“Better?”

Yaz nods. She feels much more human. She dries herself, relieved to note that her energy seems to be coming back because there’s no way she’s ready for the evening to end. She hasn’t touched Max, yet, and she starts to contemplate what she wants to do to her and how she’ll go about doing it.

Max is stripping the bed when she finally returns to the bedroom.

“Oh.” Perhaps Yaz’s plans will be cut short after all. 

Max looks confused until she registers how her activity might look.

“Night’s still young, Yaz. I just want you to be comfortable and there’s nothing better than clean sheets.”

Yaz feels a little prickle of warmth at that. Max always takes such good care of her and she even declines Yaz’s offer of help to fit the clean sheets. It’s too warm for a duvet so it doesn’t take long, at least, and the moment she’s done Yaz puts her plan into action. 

“Max?”

“Yeah, babe?” Max’s voice has gone a little raspy from exertion, and she offers Yaz some water from a bottle by the bed before taking a swig. She sits on the edge, and Yaz meanders over to stand within arm’s reach.

“I’d really like to touch you. Is that ok?”

Max swallows and takes another drink before she replies. 

“I’d like nothing more. Really. Just...outside?”

Yaz understands immediately. 

“Can I use my mouth?”

That prompts a delighted grin.

“Please. I love that thing,” Max enthuses as she puts the bottle on the floor and wraps chilled fingertips around Yaz’s bare waist.

“You should get comfy,” Yaz suggests, and she waits until Max is settled before she climbs onto the bed and gets into position between her legs. She resolves to give Max the best head she’s given anyone. She wants Max to come as hard as Max makes her come. 

She doesn’t tease her - at least, not as much as Max had teased her - because when she sees how turned on Max is she can’t help but dive in. Max makes the most incredible sounds in response and Yaz wants to hear more of them. 

She slides her arms under her thighs and rests her hands on her stomach, making eye contact every now and again as she eats Max out with nothing less than complete and utter enthusiasm. Max hasn’t let her touch her like this since their first night, and she’s been craving it just as much as she’s craved Max’s touch.

“You’re doing perfectly, Yaz. So good.”

Yaz is not as good with words as Max is, so it’s probably a good thing her mouth is busy or she’d embarrass herself. But she likes to hear what Max has to say and it spurs her on, not that she needs encouragement. Yaz genuinely loses track of time. Her jaw starts to ache but she wouldn’t stop even if she was paid to. She gets immense satisfaction from the sounds Max makes, her smell, her taste. Yaz knows then that she’s in a lot deeper than she thought.

When Max starts to come undone under her mouth it’s one of the hottest things Yaz has ever seen. The power she feels at being able to do this, to someone who has spent the evening wringing every ounce of pleasure out of her, is heady. She almost has to touch herself when the ache between her own legs grows so much that she can no longer ignore it; but she doesn’t want to move her hands away from Max, and so she relieves the worst of it by squeezing her thighs together as she fully devotes herself to the task at hand.

She doesn’t want it to end so when Max does eventually come, hand clamped over Yaz’s and hips jerking as she tries and fails not to grind against Yaz’s mouth, Yaz gives her a reprieve and then dives right back in. Now she thinks she understands why Max kept going earlier. 

Eventually, though, she does have to stop. Max lets her know when she’s done and makes sure to kiss her thoroughly afterwards, reiterating just how brilliant she thinks Yaz’s mouth is. Then she slides out of bed to put on some clean boxers and grab her phone and Yaz finds herself wondering what she’s thinking. Is she about to call her a cab?

“Do you need anything?” Max asks, holding out some spare underwear. Yaz recalls that she hasn’t brought any of her own and she’ll probably have to borrow some eventually, but she really doesn’t want to leave just yet. 

Thankfully, Max once again realises how her actions might look. 

“Not that I want you going anywhere,” she adds. “I just find them comfortable. And I thought we could order some food, given that it’s nearly midnight and I made you skip dinner to come over.” 

Max waves her phone to show she’s loaded up a food delivery app and Yaz relaxes into the sheets.

“I thought you were trying to get me out the door,” she admits, and Max looks appalled.

“Fat chance, Yaz. At the very least I need to feed you. I can lend you clothes whenever you want to go.”

Yaz grins. Max doesn’t seem to be in any hurry for her to leave and as ever, she is only concerned with Yaz’s comfort.

“I’m ok for now. To be honest, I prefer being naked around you.”

“That’s lucky. I really like you being naked around me.”

Max deposits a kiss on Yaz’s cheek as she slides back into bed, propping some pillows against the headboard as she scrolls through some menus. She insists that Yaz choose what they order and looks at Yaz rather than the phone screen while she browses. Yaz tries not to let on that she’s noticed. 

Order finally placed, Max tosses the phone to one side. 

“C’mere.”

Yaz can’t resist any longer; when Max opens her arms she falls into them, head resting on her chest. Max tangles their legs together and Yaz basks in the post-coital glow. She stares at their skin where it’s pressed together, the contrast between the ink that covers Max and the absence of ink on her own body. The sheets feel nice under her bare skin and she hopes she can spend the night. They should probably broach that topic of conversation at some point but it’s easier to start with what they’ve just done.

“That was fun. I’m never going to say no to more of that,” Yaz says, hoping that Max is thinking the same.

“Yeah?” Max seems relieved, and that in turn puts Yaz at ease. They must be on a similar page. 

“Hell yeah. You are...super fucking hot.”

Max laughs and Yaz can’t help it. She has to kiss her again. She’s lost count of how many times they’ve kissed this evening, but she can’t get enough. Their mouths meet, and then their tongues, and Yaz fully melts into it when Max strokes her cheek. It’s lazy and gentle and kind of romantic, now that Yaz thinks about it. The whole evening has been a lot more intimate than Yaz was expecting. She says as much. 

“I thought you were gonna have your way with me the moment I walked through that door.”

“I basically did that the first time.”

“You did,” Yaz laughs.

“This time was different,” Max replies. She buries her nose in Yaz’s hair and kisses her head, leaving Yaz speechless. Perhaps that was the point but Yaz is winning, either way. She likes soft Max and she likes how easy things feel between them. 

Yaz also likes naked Max and there is plenty of her to see. Her eyes keep roaming. There’s so much to take in, but her attention keeps getting drawn to the heart on her chest.

She kisses it again and Max runs her hand through her hair as she does so.

“I’ve never really known a tattoo artist before. You make people’s dreams reality. It’s such a skill.”

Yaz traces some writing on her ribs. She has no idea what it says but it looks exotic. 

Max previously told her she got some tattoos on her travels, and she suspects this might be one of them.

“I like this one,” she says, drawing her hand back when Max shifts.

“Ticklish,” she mutters, “sorry. That one was from a mate in Bali. Spent a bit of time there learning, tattooing tourists. But the best bit was that I could go to the beach every day after work.”

Yaz imagines Max in a bikini with all that ink and takes a mental holiday of her own.

“I can’t imagine you sunbathing with all these tattoos.”

“Oh no. I hid in the shade. Too pale for that sun, anyway.” Yaz can see Max’s freckles and she imagines she burns easily.

“Got that one around the same time as this,” Max continues, pointing to the numerals on her hip: the shaky xiii her ex had tattooed on her. Yaz wonders if she’d ever let anyone untrained mark her permanently like that. The reminder of her ex doesn’t seem to bother Max, and Yaz is reminded of what Max told her on the day they met; that tattoos are all pieces of the puzzle. Yaz wants to start putting them together. 

“How long ago was that?” Yaz keeps her wording deliberately vague. She’s more interested in how long Max has been single than in how long she’s had the tattoo. Max reads between the lines.

“About 3 years? We broke up a few months later.”

Yaz is surprised. Max has been single for that long? She can’t help but repeat Max’s words back to her.

“A little while, hey?”

“Just a bit,” Max replies, eyes creasing with a genuine smile. She doesn’t ever seem to take offence at what Yaz says but she’s just as upfront and it’s refreshing to be around somebody without pretence. 

“It’s kind of funny that we’ve both been marked by our exes,” Yaz comments as she rests her head back on Max’s chest. She hopes the mark they’ve left isn’t as permanent as she might once have feared. 

“Yeah. Although I think it’s beyond time for me to move on.”

“Only if you’re ready,” Yaz says. If Max has been single for a while, she suspects it was an active decision to remain that way.

“Oh, I think so. In fact I know so. Just needed to find the right person to make me realise.”

Yaz is glad her face is hidden because she can’t help the flush that floods her cheeks with warmth. Is Max saying what she hopes she’s saying? Yaz remembers their conversation from their first night together and realises she can hide behind it.

“You’ll have to introduce me to this person. Sounds like they’re a good influence.”

Max chuckles and Yaz holds her breath as she waits for her reply.

“She’s a brilliant one. I can be myself around her. Plus she’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. I’m hoping she’d like to make things a little more official, actually.”

Yaz can’t believe her ears. Max is talking about her. Yaz is touched by what she’s said, too; she assumed Max would be herself around most people. But Yaz has learned that Max has different sides to her. She shows the world the parts of herself that she is comfortable showing - including most of her tattoos - and she has a confidence that Yaz has never encountered in anyone else. But she doesn’t post pictures of herself online, she has been single for longer than Yaz, she doesn’t sleep around (as Yaz had first assumed), and she’s simultaneously a nerd and also the coolest person that Yaz has ever met. 

Everything Yaz learns about Max just intrigues her even more because she seems so contradictory, but every layer actually complements the other. And Yaz suspects there are a lot more layers to discover. She could probably spend a lifetime doing just that.

She props herself up to kiss Max, delighted. 

“She definitely would.”

“Yeah?” Max looks surprised and relieved.

“Did you think I was going to say no?”

“I was prepared for the worst.”

Yaz shakes her head. Max has apparently been on the same wavelength this whole time. Perhaps that’s why they work so well together.

“Well, you don’t need to. I know we’ve only just met, but it feels like longer, somehow. I wouldn’t normally go home with someone I’ve just met or crash on their couch or watch Star Wars.”

“They’re classics.”

“That aside, I guess my point is...I really like the person I’ve got to know. And I’d really like to get to know you better.”

Later, once they’ve eaten, Max takes Yaz to bed again and wraps herself around her. But this time, they do nothing but sleep. And Yaz has never been happier.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> As always, you can find me on twitter @_mag_lex. 
> 
> I'm currently posting my new fics (with the rare exception) on wordpress - you can find them at maglexfic.wordpress.com


End file.
